


Do I Want To Forgive And Forget?

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Post War, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-30
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 209,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10809657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: She was accused of betraying their friendship, their side, so she left. Almost three years have passed and now she is asked to forgive and forget. Hermione did not know what to do or how to feel .... Non-DH complaint.





	1. <b>Chapter 1</b>

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
>  

  
Author's notes:

 

 

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**Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:** **My thanks to my wonderful _Beta Indie,_ adjectives are not enough. Without her my story would have been an absolute failure.  This story disregards some parts in DH such as the state of the Potters' home; in my story it is not destroyed but badly damaged with the second floor all but gone. The fate of the  Malfoys is also non-complaint with DH. The epilogue in DH  as you can imagine has been ignored.  **

**This is Hermione/Draco with a bit of Harry/Ginny story. If you are expecting a fast pace story mine is not it.  The story starts on the lighter side only to get a bit darker in the middle, but there will be a happy ending, it is a romance story after all. There may be some concerns about the development of Draco and Hermione’s story in the first chapters. Rest assured that you will get all the necessary background for how their relationship started and what happened to them before. However, the focus is on the present and how they’re dealing with things now.**

**Both my beta and I are very busy therefore updates could take weeks, maybe more. This story will end just be patient. I am translating my story (Spanish) too, a task I enjoy but can be time consuming.**

**Any questions or concerns don't be shy. Hope you enjoy it. Reviews, comments are welcome of course!**

**Elena**

 

 

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**Chapter 1:  And The Rain Keeps Falling Down.**

  
In spite of the rain and how cold it was, her pace was slow. May had come with the promise of spring only to cling to the last vestiges of winter. People rushed by, hugging themselves, head down to avoid the wind and the rain in their faces.

Rain did not bother her; in fact she cared for little... That was not exactly true... John Albus was everything to her. A smile appeared, a faint smile that is, because laughter was not longer part of her life.  
  
There it was, her home. Mum was in the kitchen. She could see her through the living room window. The little bungalow stood at the corner of St. George and Plum St. A big oak tree right in the corner gave shade to the house. Its wide trunk was surrounded by a half metre fence, which protected the flowers around it. The red brick house has been her home for more than two years, hers and her son’s.  
  
“Oh, you are home!”  Her mother came out of the little kitchen with a tea towel on her shoulder,  apron around her waist. “And you are wet, Hermione! You knew it was going to rain! Did you forget your umbrella again?” Within seconds her mother was taking the coat from Hermione,  and started to dry her hair and face with the tea towel. Hermione sat on one of the two armchairs, situated in the living room and closed her eyes for a few seconds. It felt good being pampered. After a while, she opened her eyes sighing. She was wet and needed to change before dinner.  
  
“Mum, I think I can do this all by myself,” said Hermione, pulling away from her mother’s grasp.  She turned her gaze to her mum’s frown.  She was still beautiful and young;  after all Hermione was born when Candice Granger was barely twenty years old.  That was a little over twenty one years ago. Her Dad was only three years older.

“Is daddy home?” she asked, and looking at the play pen she added, “John ?”  
  
“Your son refused to take a nap today. I mean a day of non-stop activity. Maybe it was the rain and having to stay in but let me tell you, the energy of this child! He fell asleep not five minutes ago. He’ll be up early,” answered Candice as she walked back to the kitchen.  
  
Hermione bent over and picked a toy from the floor, a little baby dinosaur and she smiled. She looked forward to putting her son to bed; it was the best part of her day. John had been walking for a few months now, running more than walking. He would run around the house with a toy in his hand making all sorts of sounds. His curly almost white blonde hair waving, his silver/blue eyes sparkling with delight. Merlin! He looked just like his father!  
  
“... took it and buried it in my favourite pot. I just gave him a very stern look, didn’t even speak a word to him and he burst in tears!”  Candice was still talking from the kitchen.

Hermione blinked. Her mother had been talking and she was not even listening. She got up from the worn out arm chair and went to the kitchen; Candice was putting a few dishes away. Hermione gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “Mum, I am sorry we have invaded your space ... I ... you should...”

Her mother put a finger on Hermione’s lips. “You are our only daughter, John Albus is our grandson. This is your home.”  Candice big light brown eyes showed kindness and compassion.  She knew of her daughter’s not so well hidden sadness, of the emptiness in her life. Something was missing because Hermione was not whole. Twenty one years old, and her life was turned inside out and upside down.

  
John, her husband, would swear out loud if he knew his daughter felt like an intruder. They almost lost her; they did not know all the details but the fading scars on her body were enough to tell them that two and a half years ago something terrible happened. The fact that she came back to them pregnant and saying very little did not diminish their love for her. She tried to explain but tears would start falling down so they gave her time. Eventually, sometimes without thinking Hermione would let a detail slip and they started to have a better idea of her years at Hogwarts.  


There had been a war and some of her friends hadn’t made it. The Weasley family and Harry Potter were also involved,  and the Grangers knew that they were Hermione’s closest friends.  **Were** as in the past tense, because they were sure that Hermione wanted nothing to do with Mr Potter or the Weasley family anymore. John and Candice would do anything to have their daughter back though; she was changed.  
  
“John Albus keeps me busy and your father can not wait until his grandson is old enough to take him fishing. You both bring so much joy to us!” Candice added.  
  
They were sitting in the kitchen. Candice had both of Hermione’s hands in hers and her eyes were looking directly at her daughter. “Darling, whatever little we have is yours. We love you and we want you to be happy.”  She gently wiped her daughter’s tears. “Please, don’t ever think you are a burden and, Hermione, we promise you, no one is ever going to hurt you again.”  
  
Her mother’s sudden darken eyes made Hermione uneasy. Her parents had been so excited when she received the letter from Hogwarts, so proud of her being a witch! As time went by they were more proud every year.  A totally different story could be told now. Hermione spoke of betrayal and humiliation at the hands of those she thought her friends. As a result Candice and John Granger wanted nothing to do with the wizarding world anymore and they were sure neither did Hermione.  
  
Hermione made an effort and forced a big smile on her face. “I had better go and get changed, but first I am going to kiss my angel goodnight,” she said in a mocking tone.   
  
She gave her mother a hug and a kiss. Candice watched her daughter leave, a thoughtful expression on her face. She sighed and got up to set the table; dinner was ready.

 


	2. <b>Chapter 2</b>

  
Author's notes:

**  
**

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 Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.

****A/N: My deepest thanks to my _beta Indie_  for her wonderful editing and support. I have disregarded the epilogue in DH, thought I should warn you.** **

****The story is rated M for some substance abuse and suicide attempt, though nothing extremely graphic, and for scenes of a sexual nature. Consider yourselves fully warned.** **Thanks for your comments and keep on reading.** **

 

 

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**Chapter 2: A Ghost From the Past**  
  
  
His shift did not start for another two hours. He was walking in the rain. He did a lot of walking since he decided to move to Muggle London. Walking in the rain was therapeutic and it also kept him in shape. He smiled realizing that some of his vanity was still intact.

_'Here I am again.'_ he sighed. Charing Cross Road was a long way from where he lived now, but once in a while his feet would bring him to the place which separated two worlds. He missed the world he had left behind but if she was not in it then he had no reason to stay. He kept on walking and went into the Leaky Cauldron. He chose the farthest, darkest corner in the place. This was as far as he would go.  
  
As he walked to his table, he noticed that no one seemed to recognize him. Was his appearance so different? Or maybe it was the Muggle clothes he was wearing. Nevertheless, it always amazed him that he was just a stranger to them. _'Then again, Azkaban transforms those who had no choice but to visit and stay in a very special way,'_ he thought.  
  
As he sat down one of his hands made it to the pocket in his shirt. Gently caressing the outside of it, his face softened all of a sudden. He took the moving picture out. There were two persons in it. It was taken during a bright summer day. A baby, nine or eight months old, was sitting on a swing. The baby's mother was pushing the swing while her son laughed a most joyous laugh. While one hand was caressing the picture, the other became a fist with knuckles turning white. How much time had passed he could not tell but he was brought back to reality by somebody saying his name.  
  
Ginny Weasley had just said goodbye to Harry who wanted to go to Weasleys Wizard Wheezes and get another toy for his godson Teddy. At the rate Harry was going Teddy would be able to open his own store! She did not feel like going to the store right away so she decided to relax in the Leaky Cauldron for a bit before going back to help her brother George. As her gaze wondered absentmindedly, she noticed the man sitting at the back of the bar. _'I know that man but ... where have I seen him before? Muggle clothes though, I know a few wizards who wear Muggle clothes, yet ...'  
_  
Her curiosity got the best of her and she walked towards his table. She stood right behind him and could not help but look at the picture he was stroking. Ginny's eyes were glued to the picture immediately. The man was so deep in thought he did not notice her proximity.  
  
She gasped as she realised who the girl in the picture was. _'Merlin! It's Hermione!'_ She brought her hand on her mouth. She leaned forward to take a better look at the man and then...  
  
"Malfoy?" Ginny Weasley could not believe her eyes.  
  
He jumped off his chair. His white blond hair was longer than she remembered and not as well kept, and he was tall, more than a head taller than her. As he looked at her, his features hardened and his eyes filled with so much hatred it petrified her but Ginny refused to show it.  
  
Her bewilderment and her urgent desire to know more were too much for her to keep quiet . "Malfoy, we thought you..." Her voice came out in a whisper, while she pointed at the picture with a trembling hand. "That is Hermione with a ba ..."  
  
"Get out of my way, Weasel!" Malfoy took the picture off the table and placed it back inside his pocket, gritting his teeth he added, "No, I am not dead. Sorry to disappoint you."  
  
He started to walk away but suddenly he stopped and turned around; in two long strides he was once again in front of her. There was rage but also sadness and fear in his eyes, although he tried to disguise the last two feelings as soon as they crept in. "Do not come one centimetre close to them. You stay away from my family or I swear..." he said, his voice menacingly low.  
  
" Malfoy, I ... Harry..." Ginny started. Truth be told she could not think of what to say.  
  
"Spare me! None of you cared then and I doubt you care now." He came closer, towering over her. "You watched while she was insulted and humiliated. You abandoned her as if she was never your friend!" His nostrils were flaring. "The heroes of Hogwarts, the wonderful Harry Potter and the Weasleys!" His mocking tone was like a knife to her heart. "Without them where would our Boy Who Lived and Conquered have found the strength? Hermione Granger..." Were there tears in his eyes? "How easy it was to forget all that she did for him, for all of you! Remember the war? The dead and the injured bodies lying all over the castle, including hers?"  
  
Ginny remembered what it was like to see Hermione's barely alive body lying amongst the dead and the wounded.  
  
"She did not die but how you treated her after she and I ... so much for friendship! You, the good guys, the ones who were going to be bring peace and harmony to the wizarding world. Well, we do not want to be part of your wonderful, perfect world anymore." His menacing tone made her shiver. "I mean it ... you are not going to hurt her ever again." He turned around and left.  
  
Ginny stood there, tears in her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. It felt like she could not breathe as the past was coming at her like a gigantic locomotive, speeding out of control and she was unable to move. It came in the form of a picture of her best friend and her son.


	3. Chapter 3

  
Author's notes:

 

 

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**Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:** **Many thanks to my wonderful** **beta Indie.**

 

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**Chapter 3: Glad I Have A Wand.**

 

Draco could not get out of there quickly enough. What was he thinking! _‘I should have just walked away but no, I had to lose my bloody temper! Stupid, stupid Draco.'_ He bumped into customers on his way out, oblivious to their annoyed glances and comments. Once out of the bar he noticed it was getting darker.  He took a look at his watch. He had an hour to make it to work.  Draco wished he had his broom with him.  Flying took all tension and anger away and it reminded him that there were parts of his life worth remembering, like Quidditch. He would have to walk now; he needed to do something physical. Either walking or punching somebody.

 

Most of the time his walks were taken a few hours before work. When his room started to close in on him or thoughts of Hermione and Azkaban were too overwhelming, that was when he would either fly or walk. Depending on his job's assignments he would choose a path, which eventually ended up at his job. Once he knew which way he was going he would let his mind wondered and when he could not resist the temptation he ended up at the bookstore or the park where his son played or her house. Obviously this time he was too deep in thought or thinking about the world he left behind because without planning it he ended up at the bar. It had happened before. He missed Hermione. He loved her but could not bring himself to let her know he was so close. Why? He was not sure. He had left Azkaban with a permanent feeling of inadequacy and self doubt. Every time he was about to approach her he backed down and now he might have to do it whether he wanted to or not.

 

_‘Merlin! What is wrong with me? Those bloody Dementors! That blasted place with those stupid cries and screams...!'_   Everything he went through in Azkaban started to play in his head. His hands were closed into fists, his knuckles white and his pace slower. His heart was beating fast, he was afraid. His eyes were moving in every direction, like a hunted animal. He even turned his head right, left, back, as if he expected the Dementors to appear any second. He shook his head, squared his shoulders, held his head high and with his right hand brushed his long blond hair into place. The moment had passed and the weakness he had shown enraged him.

 

Draco walked faster; his thoughts went back to the Leaky Cauldron. _‘Just when I thought nobody had recognized me she had to be the one!'_ The Weasel girl was bound to tell her annoying family, all ten thousand of them and of course, Harry The Bloody Hero Potter. _‘Stupid! What in Merlin is wrong with me?'_ He cursed again and sighed; what was done was done.

 

They may know about them now. Merlin only knew why Hermione’s friends just let her go. He found her; they obviously did not try. They never tried two years ago so why would they try to find her now? If what happened when their relationship started and then during his time in Azkaban was any indication of how they felt about her he had nothing to fear. Although … _‘The Weasel girl was shocked to see Hermione with John Albus. Didn’t they know she was pregnant?'_ Draco wondered.

 

Hermione covered her tracks, though not very well. Her parents were with her, which meant she went back to Australia and reversed the memory charm she used to protect John and Candice from Voldemort. Whatever information the Ministry had on file was not longer true because the Grangers no longer lived in the suburbs or practiced dentistry. Hermione lived as a Muggle so she practiced no magic at all. For a wizard like him, one who did not care and knew nothing about Muggles, looking for Hermione became a learning experience, one that made him swear countless of times.

 

Let them tried to find her and if they did find her, Draco had taken precautions. If any wizard or witch other than him dared to step into the perimetre  of her house he would know. In seconds Draco would be there, wand in hand, willing to protect his family. Draco glanced at his surroundings and realized he needed to change direction. No harm done, it would take less than twenty minutes to make it to work.

 

“You are early today." Nick was having his  seven thirty cigarette, leaning against the wall of the thirty story building, his uniform blending with the grey walls. He had that funny hat on. Some Muggles wore it. Nick called it a _baseball_ hat. Baseball was a weird game Muggles from America played.

 

Draco looked up scanning the office building. The retreating sun was painting the windows with orange and silver colours. The clouds in the sky reminded him of the fumes coming out of his potions cauldron. He turned his attention to his supervisor. “How many offices today?”

 

His supervisor! He did not mind. Working with the cleaning crew was mindless work and he did not want to think about anything other than Hermione and John Albus plus Nick kind of grew on him. Dare he say Nick was sort of a friend? The only friend in the Muggle world, his only friend, period? With Nick he could let his guard down and did not need to live up to the Malfoy name. He was just plain old Draco. Not that he was that nice to him or the others members of the crew, yet the man didn’t mind.

 

Nick knew about Draco’s  'lady friend’  even though he knew nothing about where she lived or her name; Draco kept that part of his life hidden. His young friend was not the most cheerful person in the best of days so if he came to work sombre and barking orders like he owned whatever building they were working on he knew she was the culprit. So Nick would invite Draco for breakfast , talk about _football_ (another weird game Muggles played with their feet!) and his four daughters whom Nick adored. A few months ago Draco was even invited to have dinner with Maggie, Nick’s wife and the girls. He having supper with Muggles, working for Muggles and having a son with a Muggle-born. The irony did not escape him. Funny thing though, it didn’t bother him one bit.

 

“Thirty, can you believe it!” answered Nick to his question. “I mean, we are good, hell, we are more than good but ... anyway, let’s go, the guys are going up.”

Draco was already opening the door ready for another night of exciting cleaning challenges. “Hey,” Nick said with a grin on his face. “I vacuum today, you do the washrooms."

 

_‘Good thing I always have my wand with me,'_ Draco thought.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

  
Author's notes:

 

 

* * *

  

**Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:** **Many thanks to my wonderful** **beta Indie.**

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**Chapter 4: I Cannot Take Them Back.**

 

Molly Weasley came down stairs trying her best not to make any noise. Outside, a grey veil engulfed the skies and very little light was coming through. Molly could see the top of the trees moving gently, almost waving at the new day. Breakfast at the Weasley household was not longer a whirlwind of activity. Of her seven children, Ginny was the only one living at home. In spite of it she loved having breakfast ready for her husband and daughter and maybe Harry, the odd time he would drop by if he managed to get out of bed before ten in the morning! One thing never changed: Ginny and Arthur were always late getting out the door, both talking to her at once, scrambling to get their packed lunches without dropping everything as they manoeuvred parchments and went over last minute details. A few minutes of commotion and then absolute silence.

 

Arthur’s work at the Ministry was time consuming now that he was Kingsley Shacklebolt’s right hand man. Her husband helped Shacklebolt during the first months after his election to the post of Minister of Magic. Both men knew each other very well since they had been members of the Order of the Phoenix for a long time. As a result of Arthur’s accomplishments during that troublesome period, Kingsley decided to keep his friend by his side. However, it meant long hours with little time for anything else. More often than not Arthur’s carefully packed lunch would come back home intact, which made a hearty breakfast that much more important for his wife since it could very well be the only nourishment he would have the whole day.

 

Molly’s mind kept wondering. George crept in. She went back to the months after Fred’s death when his twin would not get out of bed, barely eat or speak to any one. They all missed Fred, their son, brother and friend. Not only did George miss him,  he lost half of himself when Fred died. It was Ginny who had lured him out of the hole he dug for himself and gave him a new reason to live and find meaning in his life. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was George’s only connection to Fred, and Ginny knew it so she kept the store open during the summer time before going back to Hogwarts and it was Ginny who found Mildred who now was working full time and enjoying every minute of it. A few months after Ginny left for school George was making surprise visits at the shop, claiming he just happened to pass by.  It did not take long for George to claim back the title of owner and manager of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and not long after he moved to the flat above the store. Fred’s live size picture greeted costumers as they went into the store, joking and keeping laughter alive and well as it should be.

 

Molly was now sitting, taking in her surroundings. The birds were chirping and the skies did not look as grey; maybe the sun would come out. The Burrow was lazily stretching too, contracting and expanding. Arthur would be the first one up, followed by Ginny...

 

Thoughts of her daughter made her wonder. Was Ginny happy? She could have taken a different path than the one she chose after finishing Hogwarts. Her NEWT results were short of amazing and Minerva expressed great confidence in a great future for Ginny as a Healer or even a position at the Ministry. It did not happen. Ginny stayed with George, spending her time between helping her brother and being Harry’s girlfriend.

 

As she glanced over the clock she noticed Ron’s hand. He was still in Romania, chasing dragons and Merlin knew what else, with his brother Charlie. Both dropping a line here and there, visiting only for Christmas and just for a few days. All the details of what had transpired between Ron and Hermione had eluded Molly, except for the aftermath. Molly could not deny she was shocked and hurt by Hermione’s behaviour, mostly because of what it did to Ron, who transformed into a boy full of contempt and anger, so much so that she could barely recognize him and no, she did not approve of her son’s choice of words and conduct towards Hermione. He would not listen, he did not want to listen and that was why he left. Maybe she did not try hard enough. It was such a tumultuous time in her life, so many of them in pain, Molly did not have the energy or the will when her sorrow ran so deep within her. She wondered sometimes about Hermione and could not help but feel some pity and, yes, remorse. The war had not only left them with physical scars but with emotional ones and those would take longer to heal. Oh Merlin, did she miss Fred, Remus, Tonks ... and Albus!

 

She had finished setting the table when her thoughts were interrupted as she looked out the window. Was that Ginny outside in the porch? “Ginny, what are you doing here?” Molly called and took in the sight of her daughter.

 

Ginny was sitting in the steps, her hair covering her face, a blanket wrapped around her body.  Slowly she turned her head up and then let out a big sigh.  “Just thinking, Mum,”  she said and immediately stood up gave her mum a kiss and went inside.

 

Tea was ready. The warmth of the liquid felt good going down her throat. The morning was chilly and damp. Spring was taking its time to come full swing.

 

“Thinking about what?” asked Molly, following her daughter back inside. She was now staring at Ginny, concerned.

 

“Don’t worry, Mum, it’s nothing,” Ginny said as she gave her mother another peck on the cheek and sat at the table, not eating but nibbling on her eggs and bacon.

 

She could not tell her mother. Ginny did not know what to do. Ever since her encounter with Draco she had this strange sensation in the pit of her stomach and her chest felt constrained. Old memories came back and Draco’s words kept repeating in her head over and over again. He was alive! Hermione had a son! Were Draco and Hermione together? He spoke of them as his family so they must be, but where were they living?  The events between Voldemort’s defeat and Draco’s trial were a carrousel of images going round and round like a never ending Muggle movie. How it came to be that Hermione betrayed her brother with Draco, she did not know. But did she really betray him? Was it right to think so just because they all assumed Hermione and Ron would end up together? After the war, Ginny was dealing with all sorts of feelings: the sorrow because of Fred’s death, her unresolved issues with Harry and the uncertainty of her own future. Ron’s despair and rage was too much to handle and she just let it happen. In the end she lost her best friend and she had to take some of the blame.

 

Her heart skipped a beat feeling small in her chest. Did Hermione hate them as much as she saw in Draco’s eyes? How many times had Hermione tried to explain to them what had happened? Words, hurtful and vicious words were said then and now could not be taken back. It all made Ginny feel guilty and sorrowful. Everything they all went through, especially Harry, Ron and Hermione was forgotten like Draco said. They could not believe Hermione had fallen in love with Draco and then taken Draco’s side during his trial. She had betrayed one of the heroes of Hogwarts, but wasn’t Hermione a heroine herself? Ginny had to admit it; at the end of it all Hermione stood alone. Tears filled Ginny's eyes ... and Hermione was pregnant!

 

“Ginny?” Molly asked seeing her daughter’s expression. “Is everything well with Harry?” Molly was standing behind her daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder.

 

Ginny did not turn to look at her. She just patted her mum’s hand and walked towards the door. “I better get ready. George has a new inventory to go through,” she mumbled, leaving the kitchen.

 

The door closed behind Ginny. Molly shook her head and made a mental note to talk to Harry. What could have her daughter at the brink of bursting into tears?

 


	5. <b>Chapter 5</b>

  
Author's notes:

 

 

* * *

  

**Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:** **Many thanks to my wonderful** **beta Indie.**

 

 

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**Chapter 5: Building New Bridges**.

 

_‘If I have to find out what’s wrong I better do it away from the shop.'_ Harry was on his way to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.  The day before, Molly dragged him to the kitchen while Ginny had gone upstairs and gave him an account of what she witnessed a few days ago thinking that Harry and Ginny had an argument only to find out that Harry was not even in the country for the past six days.  Ginny did not seem different to him but they had only seen each other for a couple hours since Harry came back from visiting Ron and Charlie.

 

It was so early in the morning that Diagon Alley was almost deserted. He thought of surprising her at the Burrow but Ginny had left earlier than he expected.  As he went into the shop, he saw her taking inventory of the shelves behind the counter. He surprised her from behind, placing a kiss in her neck.  “Good morning.”  She turned around, her eyes smiling, wrapping her arms around his waist.

 

“This is a surprise!  You are not an early riser;  it's more like four in the morning for you,”  she joked.

 

He brushed her lips with his, keeping her close to him.  “We have not been together for more than a week. I missed you.”

 

Ginny gave him a puzzled look.  ' _Something is up.'_ She stepped back to have a better look at him.  “Are Ron and Charlie okay?”  she said,  sounding a bit concerned.

 

Harry smiled reassuringly.  “They are fine.  You think your mum wouldn’t have let you know if those two were in a hospital somewhere?  I just thought that maybe you and I could have breakfast together.  It is only eight o’clock; the store does not open until ten...”

 

Ginny kept looking at him. She was not convinced. Her eyes were searching for any hint in Harry's face about the reason of such an early visit but he was not giving her any clues. “Harry, what is going on? I mean you are here at eight in the morning! You are never up until ten, even later!”

 

‘ _How do women do it anyway? They can smell a set up from kilometres!  Should have thought this out better.’_ Harry scolded himself mentally.

 

“Is it so strange that I wanted to surprise you?  You are surprised, aren't you?  I have everything ready. That Muggle park you and I like must be deserted;  we can have a little picnic although maybe this early we better call it a breakfast-picnic,"  Harry said.

 

Harry didn't want to have any confrontation at the shop so he did what he thought would distract Ginny for a while. He pulled her closer to him, his lips almost touching hers “We can catch up,” he added.

 

_‘Something is definitely up,’_   Ginny thought.  No that she minded having alone time with Harry,  after all he had been away for a week but a surprise! Harry's romanticism was long gone. Their relationship was ... predictable, steady as if it were,  suspended in air waiting for something to happen. There were no sparks or sense of anticipation and no romance. As this last thought sneaked its way into her head she stopped herself from going any farther. She knew the only way to find out what this was all about was to give in. She took her apron off, wrote a note letting George and Mildred know she was coming back in an hour and closed the shop.

 

Breakfast was not bad. She didn’t know she was hungry until the first bite of her muffin entered her mouth. Harry talked about his visit with Ron and Charlie and how Ron was becoming an expert like his brother at catching dragons and other magical creatures.

 

“He seems happy. I mean, you know when he is excited about something, how his eyes grow bigger, he talks without pauses, whole sentences! Even his horrible eating habits are coming back if that is a sign at all.”

Harry noticed she was not listening to him; she was more interested in the grass, her fingers playing with it. He took her hand.

 

Ginny looked up and gently caressed one side of his face. “I am glad he is better. It has been more than two years, you know. About time he moved on. Last Christmas he was still holding on to ... his anger, I guess. He could barely contain it.”  She paused, her features sagged with a hint of sadness. “We all lost so much because of Voldemort and that stupid war!”

 

She stood up and pretended to be looking at the clouds moving slowly above her. She wiped her eyes so that tears which were threatening to flow would not give Harry reason to worry, but it did not work. Harry took her by the shoulders and moved in front of her. “What is it, Ginny? Your mum tells me you are not yourself lately and now I see that she is right.”

 

“So... Mum put you up to this,” she said with a hint of irritation in her voice.

 

Harry ignored it. He wiped her tears with his thumb. “Are you going to tell me what is wrong?” He saw the struggle in her face. He was now worried.

 

She decided to tell him. She needed to tell somebody, and who better than Harry? As Ginny spoke he closed his eyes. Images he had tried to hide for years came rushing at him. Images of Hermione hurt, of death and pain all around him after the final battle at Horgwarts. The castle in flames, some parts destroyed, the memorials... the Weasleys and their pain.

 

“Do you think they are together?  Hermione disappeared before he was sentenced to Azkaban. He was never seen after he was released, Malfoy Manor is abandoned, no traces of him anywhere... Your father and the Minister tried to find him... I don’t understand... a son.”  He was rambling trying to quiet his thoughts and emotions. He sat down on the blanket, crossing his legs folding his hands on top of them. He was back in time.

 

Ginny sat right in front of him. She too crossed her legs and took Harry’s hand in. “Harry, I want to find Hermione.”   There was determination in her voice and in her eyes.  Harry knew nothing he could say or do would stop her. “What about Ron, your parents?”  he asked. He sounded surprised at her determination and lack of ... sympathy towards her brother.

 

“What about them? What exactly is it that she did to Ron?” Ginny asked. Maybe if he was forced to think of an answer he would come to the conclusion, the way she did, that Ron's and Hermione's relationship didn't exist, not in the way they assumed and wished for.

 

Harry freed his hands from hers. His voice was harsh and his green eyes showed the typical Harry Potter expression of not so well contained rage.  “Are you really asking me that? Have you forgotten? Didn’t you see what it did to him? She betr...”

 

Ginny interrupted him, her face now pink. She was frustrated with Harry's stubbornness. “She was one of the best friends you and I will ever have! Have you forgotten too, Harry?”  Her voice was now trembling, showing all the emotions she had bottled up. “Remember those years at Hogwarts, how many times did she risk her life alongside you both?  How about that whole year you three spend looking for Horcruxes?  Ron took off, he left you, she stayed!  For seven years there was not a time when you needed a friend that she was not there to help you somehow.  She fell in love,  Harry, what was she supposed to do?”

 

“With Malfoy of all people!”  The veins in Harry’s neck were bulging. “She could not even explain herself.”

 

“You know that is not true. How many times you ... I ignored..."  Ginny said in a remorseful tone. “She stood in front of the store and we didn't even acknowledge her presence. She tried, Harry, she did. Remember The Three Broomsticks?”

 

Oh yes! Harry remembered and his heart started to beat faster. There she was standing at their table, the three of them not looking and Harry wishing things were different. He remembered fighting the urge to grab her and knock some sense into her.

 

**Flashback**

“ _Ron, please.” Hermione was pale, fidgeting with the trim in her robe. “I need to explain ...”_

_A very drunk Ron stood up and addressed the crowded bar. “Shsss, one of Voldemort’s whores wants to explain herself, let's listen to what she has to say,” Ron slurred, barely able to stand._

_Hermione’s silent tears came pouring down. “Harry, Ginny, listen...” she pleaded.  Harry recalled how confused he was. Hermione and Ron were his best friends and all he could do was to keep quiet and avoid taking sides._

_Ron did not let her continue. His face was the darkest crimson; his pain and wrath had no limits. “You don’t get to say anything, get out! Friends of that scum, of that traitor ... oh right, I forgot… no... you are not his friend." His face very close to hers. “You are his whore! Do you really think he loves you? To him you are nothing more than a mudblood, a filthy, despicable...”_

_Ron fell on the floor, Hermione’s hand leaving its mark on his face. As she was leaving, tears streaming down her face, she could hear Ron’s insults in the background, his voice fading the faster she walked . Harry and Ginny managed to look up as their best friend left.  She had taken her robe off and dropped it on the floor.  Harry picked it up and for the first time during that horrendous spectacle he gazed at the disappearing figure feeling like running after her because he needed to understand, Merlin, he just wanted so much to understand! Instead he went back to Ron who was sobbing on the floor, not knowing it was the last time he would see or hear from Hermione again._

**End flashback**

 

Ginny's voice brought him back. “She wrote to you and Ron, you know?”

 

Harry was hearing her but could not grasp what Ginny was saying. “She wrote to us? When?”

 

“I was looking for clues, anything that might give me some ideas where to start looking for her. I thought of Ron’s room. I know he rid it of anything which might remind him of her. I was hoping he had missed something. He did because I found a Vanishing Cabinet replica, a small one. Muggles use it for their magic tricks. Inside I found the parchments. Maybe he forgot where he hid them or he just could not get rid of them. The thing is two are for you.”  Ginny finished her long explanation expecting a quick reply but none came.

 

Harry rubbed a hand against his nape. He could not understand what was happening. He was standing now, hands inside the pockets of his pants, his gaze lost in the horizon. “He never told me. Two were for me and he never told me.” There was hurt in his voice.

 

“He never opened them. The seals are intact. My thick headed brother had made up his mind. Can you believe it?  Living in rage was a lot better than listening to her.” Obviously Harry was trying to digest this new piece of information so she decided to give him time to do it.

 

Harry was not convinced Ron would hide something like that from him. His temples were throbbing and he started to massage them. _‘No, he must have forgotten, he must ... No, he did not, he lied to me because ... Why?'_ Harry told himself.

 

“Don’t be mad at him, Harry,” Ginny said soflty.  She knew what Harry was thinking and feeling because she felt it for a while. “I am not anymore. I feel pity for Ron though; look what became of him. He is bitter and oh so bloody unpleasant! I'm sure one day he will come to his senses and tell you the truth; once he grows up.”

 

She got up and put an arm around his waist leaning her head on his right shoulder. The sun was at full blast; it was getting warmer. Muggle London was bustling with activity. It was almost surreal for Harry looking at people rushing to work or school while he was wrestling with all the memories of the worst year of his life. He just learned that Malfoy was alive, Hermione was somewhere in London with a son and Ron’s anger ran deeper than he thought to the point of lying to him to hurt Hermione.

 

Again old memories came back. A timid smile appeared in his face as he recalled that most surprising kiss his friends had shared right before the final battle. Finally those two had acknowledged what they felt for each other, but it did not last.

 

**Flashback**

_Fred and so many others were dead, Hermione was badly hurt and he almost lost Ginny. Ron tried his best to be brave in front of everyone to the point of almost total denial._

 

_Hermione was in hospital with severe injuries. She took so many spells the Healers had a hard time trying to figure out which one to tackle first. Her head injuries were the most severe. Her performance during the last battle was exemplary. She had fought like the battle depended on her alone and it showed in her body._

 

_For weeks she was in and out of consciousness with Ron, Ginny and Harry by her side. Harry dividing his time between all the injured, Hermione and comforting the Weasleys. Ron devoted his time between Hermione and his family. Curiously Ron never mentioned the kiss, like it never happened. Once Hermione started to feel better their bickering started, sometimes for no reason at all. If they had a big row Ron would stop visiting Hermione for a couple of days and then the cycle would start again. Harry and Ginny were stuck in the middle._

 

_Malfoy was hospitalized for a couple of weeks and so was Narcissa although her injuries took longer to heal. Hermione shared the same ward as Narcissa; in fact they were separated by a few beds. Once Malfoy was released he would come to visit his mother everyday for long hours, more often than not he would spend the night. His contact with the others in the ward was nonexistent or so they thought until Ron witnessed a few short phrases between Hermione and Malfoy._

 

_As time went by Hermione’s and Ron’s rows were all about Malfoy . Ron’s fits of jealousy made Harry wonder._

_Harry had to ask Hermione about it. “You have to admit it, Hermione, it is kind of strange. I mean it is Malfoy! And you ... he tormented you, you can’t possibly ... are you?”_

 

“ _How dare you!” Hermione made a feeble attempt to get out of bed, refusing Harry’s help. When she finally did her hazel eyes were looking at Harry in disbelief. “You doubt me too, I can not believe you! Answer me this, why in the bloody hell do I owe Ron Weasley any explanation about who I choose to talk to or who my friends are? It is not like we are ... anything but friends.”  Her pleading eyes were looking for an answer as to why Ron was acting as if that kiss never happened._

 

_Harry had to think for a minute. “Because he cares for you a lot,"  was the only answer he could come up with._

_Hermione was leaning against her bed and Harry sat beside her. “You_ **_care_ ** _about me Harry, Ginny_ **_cares_ ** _about me, Mr and Mrs Weasley_ **_care_ ** _about me too. What makes Ron so stupidly unique? He_ **_cares_ ** _about me ... he just_ **_ca_ ** _...” she could not continue._

 

“ _Hermione, you know ...” Harry started to come up with an answer but Hermione interrupted him._

 

“ _No, I don’t."  Her voice was soft and with a hint of despair in it. “I don’t, Harry. I am not Ron’s property. He has no claim on me as anything but a friend, a friend he is very close to losing."_

 

“ _Hermione, he is just ... well ... he is not good with words."  Harry's tone sounded eager,  his face showing desperation as he witnessed Hermione's unwillingness to understand._

 

“ _Funny, for someone not articulate enough he sure can use them when they serve his purpose. Worst of all he uses them to insult me with his bloody jealousy,” Hermione said bitterly._

 

_Harry could sense Hermione was not just venting, there was something deeper, much more than frustration and it was threatening his friends’ relationship._

 

“ _Hermione,” he let out a big sigh. “Can’t you just listen to what he is telling you, really telling you?”_

 

“ _No, Harry, I am not going to make it easy for him this time. I cannot let Ron treat me the way he has been treating me ... too much has happened,” she said fighting the lump on her throat. “We all need to grow up. If he needs to tell me something, he'd better say it like any normal man would. I cannot read minds or mistake his constant bickering about Malfoy for something other than a tantrum of a spoiled child.”_

 

_It did not get better from then on. In fact, it got out hand, out of Harry’s hands. The shouting matches continued until it finally blew up. Ron found Hermione in Draco’s arms, in what he called a romantic embrace. Accusations, insults and punches were exchanged and then Hermione shouted those words as Ron demanded an explanation,_ **_“because I love him!”_ ** _It just got worse._

 

_The Ministry of Magic pressed charges against the Malfoys. Draco was accused of conspiracy to kill Dumbledore and endangering Hogwarts and Narcissa of being a Death Eater; there was very little she or her son could do about that accusation. Draco was not incarcerated (he rented a room at the Leaky Cauldron while the Ministry took over Malfoy Mansion gathering evidence against the Malfoy family)  but his mother was transferred to the Ministry where both trials would take place. By then Hermione gave up trying to have any communication with her friends._

**End flashback**

 

Harry did not know all the details but Hermione’s name had come up in the list of witnesses for Draco’s defence. It had been the last drop. They all were too stunned to think straight and then ... She had disappeared without explanation a few days before Malfoy’s sentence was to be read. Harry shook his head as if trying to shake the memories away.

 

Voldemort was dead, his followers were rounded up and dealt with by the Ministry and yet for some it was hard to forgive and forget. It dawned on Harry that a battle was taking place underneath the surface. _‘So Voldemort is gone and we are still fighting. The barriers are still up, we still think of_ ** _us against them.’_**

 

Ginny had a puzzled look on her face. Harry seemed to be somewhere else. “Harry?” she asked, trying to get his attention.

 

His eyes were strained, his expression weary. “I need to read those parchments," he said with a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I’m not sure what to think or do, maybe if I had read those parchments before ...”

 

Ginny felt disappointed in Harry. Why couldn’t he just put the past behind him? The more she thought about the whole thing the less sense it made to her and the more guilty she felt.  It was not longer about reminiscing or dwelling in the past, it was about making a wrong right.

 

“Well, I’m not waiting for you. I don’t know what those parchments say,”  she said firmly as Harry looked at her with some doubt. “No, I didn’t read them. I was going to but ... they belong to you and Ron and if ... when I find her, assuming she wants to talk to me, I will ask for her forgiveness and if she wants to give me another chance ...”

 

“You find her and then what? Malfoy said in so many words that they want nothing to do with us.” Harry's tone of voice conceited defeat. Ginny had made up her mind. This was his last attempt to stop her, he had to try.

 

Ginny allowed her eyes to wonder. She was surrounded by the sounds and smells of a world she knew very little about, bits and pieces only. “She is somewhere in London. Maybe with her parents. I don’t know, but I need to find her.”

 

“Ginny, this may end up in a big mess; you may end up hurt.” He stroked her hair while tightening his hold on her.

 

“I gave up on our friendship without even a fight. I allowed Ron’s pain and rage to influence me.” Ginny's gaze was lost in the big city, her eyes darting from one point to the other, looking for a lost friend. “She is my friend, Harry, your friend. Whatever we think she did to us, I have the awful feeling she got the short end of the stick because my world has not changed that much after the war. I have my parents, my friends, you; hers got a bit smaller and most likely darker. The war is over, Harry, we buried our dead. Some are reaching out, building bridges,” she said as she started packing their things up. “I am going to try to find her with or without you.”

 


	6. <b>Chapter 6</b>

  

**Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful beta Indie for her support and brilliant editing.**

 

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •  

**Chapter 6: Speechless.**

 

Spring had arrived, finally and it was a good change from the rainy and cool days of the past weeks. John Albus was not a happy boy if he had to stay indoors for long.

 

Today Hermione was closing early. Mr Lynch was in a good mood,  something about a reunion of sorts, so he decided to give her the afternoon off.  She was going to surprise her son with a trip to the park, and give her Mum a well deserved break.

 

The little bookstore was her little piece of heaven. During the first months of her pregnancy she found solace in taking the bus, wondering aimlessly throughout the city, stopping if anything picked her interest. One of such trips ended not far from her home and then she saw it, The Last Page. As soon as Hermione crossed the threshold she immediately fell in love. The bookstore reminded her of a library she was once fond of,  back in her school years. The Last Page was the typical, well established, vintage kind of store. The kind one goes by in the oldest parts of the city, close to downtown. Its wooden floors were worn and creaked with every step. The shelves lined both walls and reached the ceiling. There were brass plates with labels such as History, Politics, Science Fiction, even Romance. That was the extent of said organization. Books were placed one of the top of the other on a few chairs scattered around the place, which of course made walking a hazardous activity since the aisles were already too narrow in the first place. At the very back stood Mr. Lynch, face buried in a book, looking up only if the little bell above the door made its warning noise.

 

The Last Page became Hermione’s refuge dropping by twice or thrice a week. Her love for reading showed and Mr.  Lynch did not mind the young lady with sad eyes and obviously pregnant reading his books without ever buying one. It did not take long for both to start exchanging opinions about books and different authors. From the back of his store he witnessed Hermione organizing his shelves and finding books for customers. He was complimented for having such a wonderful employee.

 

Hermione’s years at Hogwarts did not prepare her for work in the Muggle world and her pregnancy was becoming a challenge in her quest for a job, which was part of the reason she wondered in the city. So when dear old Mr. Lynch offered her a job she accepted it without hesitation. Even if it was only for a few months. Once again Mr. Lynch surprised her by letting her know she was welcome any time after the birth of her baby.

 

“Bring your brat with you."  For a man who owned a place full of books his choice of words baffled Hermione.

 

“Hell, ever since you came people I didn’t even know were still here are coming back. Besides a baby might be good for business, you know,  a family bookstore, what a good employer I am, blah blah blah,”  he said winking at her.

 

For a while she did bring John Albus with her but Candice convinced her,  not without a fight, that her grandson deserved a home not a shop to grow up in. To Hermione’s chagrin her mother took a leave of absence from her teaching job with the compromise that John Albus would start going to pre-school as soon as he turned three. 

 

Hermione locked the door and headed toward the bus station. After no more than two steps she saw her. Standing a few metres in front of her,  hands fidgeting with her bag, was Ginny.

 

Within seconds, Ginny walked quickly towards her. Hermione could not move and her expression was one of somebody in shock but it soon changed into disgust and deep pain.

 

“Please, don’t leave, I ...”  Ginny’s voice was cracking; her emotions were too many, too overwhelming.  “I know you want nothing to do with us ... with me.”

 

By then the shock was wearing off and Hermione brushed past her, walking quickly and with long strides. Ginny ran after her and took her by one of her arms. Hermione shook her off with disdain. Ginny followed her, still talking.

 

“Please, Hermione, I know this is a big surprise.” Hermione laughed softly. “Believe me, it was for me when I saw Malfoy...”

 

Hermione stopped. Her face had gone white. Ginny was not sure what to do so she decided to gently guide her to the bench inside the bus shelter right in front of them. Hermione was breathing quickly and was clutching her hands.

 

“You are not with Malfoy.” Ginny said. It was not a question. Hermione’s reaction made that clear. “The way he spoke about you and your baby ... his family ... I thought you two ... He had a picture of you and your son.”

 

Hermione gave her an astonished look. _‘Draco ... oh Merlin, he is ... he knows about ... Oh Merlin!’_ Hermione's  mind was racing with all sorts of thoughts and her emotions went from outer shock, to happiness and confusion.

 

Ginny opened her Muggle purse and handed a piece of chocolate to Hermione. It worked in the wizarding world for all sorts of spells, and this stunt she pulled certainly qualified as kind of a spell. Hermione’s colour was coming back to normal.

 

Ginny glanced around. “Come,  you need something strong.”  As Ginny tried to gently help her up,  Hermione moved away from her but followed Ginny to the small bar much to Ginny’s relief.

 

_‘Draco knows where I live, of John Albus’ existence and in all this time he did not try to see me!'_   She finally managed to look up at Ginny. Hermione's hands were resting on the table, playing nervously with the paper napkin. She noticed Ginny was doing the same. Her beautiful, now longer red hair had two hair pins on each side of her temples. One strand had escaped and was in front of her eyes; Ginny put it behind her ear. She was not a child anymore but rather a young, gorgeous nineteen year old woman. Ginny was looking anxiously at Hermione.

 

“How did you ...” she started but Ginny did not let her finish, happy Hermione was at least talking to her.

 

“Well, I have slept very little for close to three weeks. I went through every bit of parchment written about Muggle London I could find. It occurred to me that you needed to make a living and what a better place that a place with books?” Ginny said quickly, glancing at her friend. Were Hermiones’s lips hiding a smile?  “I had to sneak into the new Department of Muggle/Wizard cooperation at the Ministry. I had no idea how to find people or places in the Muggle world. There is this huge book, bunch of names in it. Yellow, forgot its name ...”

 

“Yellow Pages,” Hermione answered in a monotone voice.

 

Ginny’s heart leaped,  Hermione was talking to her again.  She decided that to acknowledge it may work against her.  “Right, anyway, I called every library and then every bookstore and that is how I found you.”

 

Hermione was bursting with so many questions she could barely contain herself,  questions about one person in particular: Draco. Where did Ginny talk to Draco?  Why did Draco never approach her?  How long has he known where she was?  Why was Ginny there, in front of her, talking non-stop as if they were the best of friends?  _‘She called? She used a telephone?’_

 

Hermione shook her head and brushed a heap of her hair away from her face. “Why are you here, Ginny?”  Her tone was distant and cold.

 

Ginny knew it was not going to be easy but she owed it to her friend to try. Without taking a breath between words she answered, “Because Malfoy’s words hit me like a Bludger. I saw and felt his hate and his pain and I knew that you probably feel the same way. You hate us, we made you hate us. I forgot what was like to have you as my best friend, forgive me.”

 

Her hazel eyes were glistening with tears which she wiped quickly, mad at herself for letting her emotions take over.  She did not want Hermione to think she was trying to manipulate her.  “Sorry I forgot the many times you risked your life for Harry and Ron, your courage at Hogwarts ... sorry I ... you did not deserve how I treated you, I was weak, stupid and a coward ...”

 

She paused for a few seconds; she could see the distrust and confusion in Hermione’s face. Ginny knew what she must do. She was wrong, oh so wrong years ago.  She gathered her composure and continued.  “I don’t expect you to forgive me, us. I am not sure if I can make it up to you so all I can say is forgive me and ... I guess ... goodbye.”  Tears were flowing freely.  Ginny took her Muggle purse,  gave a last look at her friend and ran out of the bar.

 

Hermione was listening to Ginny but at the same time she was not; she heard a few of words but not all of them. She didn’t know what to think or feel. For more than two years she fantasized about what it would be like to face them again, what she would say or do. Here she was facing one of them and could not utter more than two words. Hate? It was not hate she felt, it was sadness, deep sadness the same kind one feels when someone you loved deeply dies. The pain of leaving the wizarding world never abandoned her; in fact she missed it terribly. It was a world that gave her so much!  Friendship, skills beyond measure, it taught her about courage and inner strength, it gave her John Albus and ... Draco whom she loved more than she thought possible. But ... she walked away from it. _‘I was a coward, admit it, Hermione!’_ She couldn’t stay and watch Draco go to Azkaban and she was pregnant! It was such a wonderful, intimidating surprise! What if knowing about her pregnancy made Draco even more vulnerable inside that horrendous place? What if it made him angry? What if ... _‘Oh stop it! I have gone through this more times than I care to count. I was afraid he would reject me, period!_ Hermione had to confess being pregnant in the midst of such animosity towards her was something she could not stomach either.

 

She had been hurt deeply and was not sure if she was ready to forgive and forget just right this minute but she missed her friend and now that Ginny was ... She lifted her head up. Ginny was gone and she knew about Draco and Hermione needed answers. Panicked she left a few bills on the table and sprinted out of the bar.

 

Ginny was walking not knowing where her feet would lead her. She was sobbing out of control. She had said goodbye to her best friend. At least she had the chance to apologize even if it fell on deaf ears.

 

Hermione was running after her, shouting, “Ginny, wait!” but Ginny was not listening. Hermione ran faster and extended one of her arms pulling one of the straps in Ginny’s Muggle purse. “Ginny, stop!”

 

Startled Ginny turned around, her face a mess, her eyes full of unshed tears, her cheeks red and to her amazement Hermione out of breath right in front of her.

 

After a few seconds Hermione managed to speak. “John Albus is waiting for me. Would you mind if we continued this at the park?”


	7. <b>Chapter 7</b>

  
Author's notes:

 

 

 

* * *

**Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful beta Indie for her support and brilliant editing.  Reviews are welcome.**

 

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •   

**Chapter 7: The Fire Within.**

 

 

As they made their way to the bus station neither one spoke, both immersed in their own thoughts. Hermione enjoyed her short stroll to the bus station except during the cold months of winter when she would take the five minutes ride on bus #12,  which stopped right in front of the bookshop on its way to the station.  As much as she enjoyed her job the fact remained she seldom had a chance to get some fresh air and her walks helped her clear her mind before going home to a very demanding son.

 

Ginny was walking behind Hermione, observing her friend while going through what had transpired not an hour ago.  Hermione had not changed much save for the fact that she was three years older and she was a mother! Her hair was still bushy and wild, now held back in a ponytail, her hips were slightly wider maybe because of childbirth. Indeed,  her body was that of a woman,  not a model’s body but a real woman’s. Ginny had to admit, Hermione had the right curves in the right places and she could definitely turn heads. She had no make up on, was wearing a plain blue jean skirt, a little bit above her knees, a salmon blouse and sandals, no Muggle purse but a backpack. Typical Muggle clothing,  thought Ginny.

 

One thing was different although Ginny couldn’t quite put a name to it.  Hermione was subdued,  without that inquisitive spark in her eyes, defeated.  Was that it?  _‘How exactly would you feel if you went through what she went through, you thick woman?’_ Ginny scolded herself.  She was not sure what exactly she would say once they were facing each other again or what were Hermione’s plans.  _‘She asked me to come with her; I thought we were through but_ _I am here. That’s good, right?_ _And she doesn’t mind if I meet her son.'_  Ginny had questions too but thought it better to let Hermione do all the talking for as long as she wanted.

 

Hermione was deep in thought too. One minute she felt like telling Ginny to just leave and never come back, next her need to find out about Draco would take over only to be replaced by more confusion and that bloody sadness she had been living with for more than two years.  _‘I thought I really hated them all.  They took his side without giving me a chance,  didn’t even acknowledge those parchments.  Ron I understand,  but Harry?'_ Hermione could not deny she missed Ginny and to add to her confusion for some inexplicable reason she was glad Ginny found her.  Draco ... All those years the thought of him in Azkaban made her heart stop.  When was he let go?  How did he find her?  He had a picture, he was that close and yet... Her head was starting to hurt. _‘Merlin, I’m so confused!'_

Ginny’s angry voice interrupted her thoughts.  “I need to go through! See, my friend is right there."  Ginny was arguing with the guard at the gate who refused to the let her go through without paying. “Why did you let her go through and not me, you stupid...!”

 

Hermione rushed back and inserted the token in the slot, slapping herself mentally for forgetting about Ginny. “Sorry, sir, my apologies, she is new in town.”  She pulled Ginny by the arm dragging her and giving her friend an annoyed stare.

 

“Every time I think I have this world figured out, something stupid like this happens. I mean, is it so hard to explain how those blasted things work!”  Ginny exclaimed.

 

Hermione had forgotten about Ginny’s temper. “Could you be quiet, please? It’s over. I don’t need security called.” Without warning Hermione took Ginny’s arm and started running. “The bus is here, run!”

 

The ride to Hermione's  house was one experience  Ginny enjoyed. She had been in the Muggle side of The Leaky Cauldron many times with Harry but never far.  Her search for Hermione meant she had to wonder into Muggle territory farther than she ever did before.  She had to learn to use the telephone (now she knew how to spell the word and pronounce it correctly!) and when she finally found her,  rather than Apparating she took a taxi, which meant she had to learn to use Muggle money.  As their ride continued Ginny noticed how the landscape changed from stores and cafes on the sidewalks to residential houses and children playing in the street. Suddenly the bus stopped, how, she was not sure. This time she followed Hermione closely.

 

Again, they did not speak during their short walk. Hermione’s house was in a corner with a big tree in front of it. The grass was perfect, green and lush. The window frames and the front door were white and it looked like they had been painted recently. It appeared to be a small and old house much like The Burrow.

 

“Wait here. I won’t be more than five minutes,”  said Hermione as she climbed the few steps leading to the front door. Ginny nodded and sat on the bench by the tree, realizing that she was waiting outside because she was an unwelcome guest. All of a sudden she felt tired.

 

“I thought I told you to stay away from them!” Ginny sprang from the bench, wand in hand turning her head left and right and then she turned around.

 

Draco was pointing his wand at her. “How... were you following us?” Her heart was beating fast, her mind racing, thinking of ways to avoid getting hexed or maybe worse. Her eyes were canvassing her surroundings when she realized what those surroundings were. _‘Merlin’s beard, we are in the front yard with Muggles everywhere! What is Malfoy thinking?'_

 

Slowly, Ginny lowered her wand and tucked it in the back pocket of her pants. She was addressing him with a calm, soft voice. “Malfoy,  if you care for Hermione you better put your wand away. Remember where we are? There are Muggles all around us. They see you pointing a stick and threatening a defenseless woman and I am sure...”

 

Through clenched jaws, he growled, “Shut your mouth!” He glanced around; nobody seemed to be paying attention, yet the Weasel girl was right. As he was about to put his wand away Hermione opened the door and started to come down the steps with John Albus cradled on one side of her hips. She lifted her head up and saw him.

 

She went pale. Were it not for the fact that she was carrying John with her she would have fainted instantly. Ginny rushed to her and motioned to Hermione to sit down. It was all Hermione could take. She started sobbing out of control, holding John Albus tightly, tears falling on his blonde curls. Soon the toddler started to cry as well.

 

Draco was transfixed, unable to move.  He had never been so close to them.  At the sound of his crying son he came out of his catatonic state and took John from his mother’s arms while Ginny placed an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. Hermione was loosing control; her body was shaking,  gaining her a few glances by curious passersby.

 

“Come, Hermione, let’s go inside.  John Albus is scared; look he is crying!” Ginny tone was one of urgency.  Hermione’s tear-stained face glanced quickly at her son and then her eyes met with Draco’s.

 

The tension between them was felt by Ginny who by now was desperate to get them all inside. John Albus was screaming loudly and his parents were in a trance. It was up to her to avoid any more commotion.

 

Ginny, gently but determined pulled Hermione up and started her way to the top of the stairs. Draco was not moving. “Malfoy, lets go.”  Still Draco did not move. “MALFOY, LET’S GO!”  Seeing that it was not working she grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him in.

 

At the sound of her grandson’s cries Candice Granger came running from one of the bedrooms. Surprised by the scene in her living room she stopped. Sitting on the big sofa comforting Hermione was a young, red-haired woman. Holding her grandson was a tall man with white blonde hair. John Albus was by now in hysterics, extending his arms at his mother.

 

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” Candice ran to her grandson, ripping him from Draco’s arms. “AND WHO ARE YOU?” she screamed looking at both intruders.

 

‘ _Well, this is certainly going according to plan.'_ Ginny could not help but find the whole debacle a bit amusing. _‘And how am I going to explain all this?’_

 

The only reasonable thing to do was to introduce herself. Slowly she stood up and extended her right hand. “Mrs. Granger, I don’t' know if you remember me I am Ginevra Weasley, one of Hermione’s friends from Hogwarts.”

 

“You mean you are one of her ex-friends from Hogwarts,”  Candice corrected her with sarcasm.

 

‘ _I deserve that,'_ thought Ginny. 

 

Turning to Draco, Candice waited for an answer when suddenly, looking at his face, his long blonde hair falling on his shoulders, his silver daunting eyes fixed on Hermione,  it dawned on her. “You are John Albus’s father.”  She paused a moment taking in the whole situation, going from confusion to rage. Her disgust was overwhelming. “I don’t know what you two did to my grandson and daughter but I want you out of here NOW!”

 

“Mrs. Granger,”  pleaded Ginny.

 

“I SAID OUT!” she shouted opening the door. “Are you deaf? OUT, or I will call the police!”

 

“Mum, please stop.” Hermione was standing, staring at Draco with puffy, red eyes. He was doing the same. His insides were churning; he wanted to touch her, to wrap her in his arms, to kiss her for a long, long time.

 

“All this time I thought I’d never see you again and you knew about us and never knocked on my door ... Do you know all the nights I ..."  It was as if there were only the two of them.  “I... you have any ...”  Hermione was about to cry again but swallowed hard.

 

Draco could not restrain himself anymore. In seconds his arms were around her, his eyes closed, taking in her wonderful smell. It did not last long;  Hermione, reluctantly, pushed him away.

 

“Were you following us?” she asked, summoning all her courage to keep her composure.

 

Draco hesitated. He was terrified of losing her for good. “I used a defensive spell to protect your house as well as the bookshop from them,” he answered glaring at Ginny. “I have a Portkey.”  He took the piece of cloth from one his pants’ pockets.

 

He knew Hermione wanted the whole truth. “Someone I know procured the Portkey for me.”

 

‘ _A spell? Portkeys?’_ She was looking at him in disbelief.

 

“Hermione ... I ...”

 

“What in all that is holy are spells and Portkeys?” Candice interjected angrily. Turning to Hermione she added, “and why are you talking to them?”

 

Ginny decided it was time to leave. Hermione was dealing with so much! Her voice startled the other three.

 

“I better go.  I’ve said what I came to tell you.”  She was talking to Hermione. “I meant it, still do. If you want I can come back. If not just say the word,  you’ll never see me again but ... maybe we can start all over, create new memories? I didn’t know how much I missed you until now, Hermione.”

 

Those few seconds of silence were torture. Ginny wanted so much to have her friend back!

 

“Could you meet me for tea tomorrow afternoon, after work at five?”  Hermione said with trepidation in her voice.

 

Ginny answered beaming.  “I will be there at five o’ clock sharp. Mrs. Granger, Malfoy.”  She was about to close the door behind her when Hermione called her name.

 

“Ginny!” Hermione walked towards her and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone about ...”

 

Without letting her finish Ginny nodded and said, “I won’t tell a soul, I promise.”  Ginny squeezed her hand and left.

 

Closing the door Hermione let out a big sigh and turned around. “Mum, we need some time alone.”

 

“Are you sure? Hermione, he comes after all this time...”

 

“Mum, please.”  Hermione was almost begging her mother.

 

John Albus was getting restless. Hermione gave her son a kiss on the forehead. He was fighting to get down, tears forgotten.  “Take him to the park, he needs to get some fresh air and I need, we need to talk. I will be fine, Mum, I promise.”

 

Showing her discomfort,  Candice got hold of the folded stroller and giving a concerned glance at Hermione left the house.

 

Hermione sat on the sofa clasping her hands.  “So how long has the spell been in place?”  She dared not lift her head up because she knew that if she did whatever little control she had would be gone. The thought of his touch, his breath on her face, his lips so close made her body hot and her middle burn with desire.

 

“A little over a year,” he answered.

 

“And the picture? Ginny mentioned a picture.”

 

He had a hard time talking to her without being able to look at her. He longed so much kiss her!" August, last year.”

 

Was she crying?  He couldn’t tell.  He took one step and heard her quiet sobbing. Next thing he knew he was sitting right beside her, grabbed her by the shoulders and with one hand gently lifted her head. Her brown eyes were full of tears and then it happened. His lips touched hers, just a brush. He stopped, his gaze full of love and lust. His mouth opened wide taking hers again. She was waiting for him this time. The fire within was too much to keep inside. The events of the day, the years apart, the need to touch and to feel each other made for an explosion of raw desire.

 

While one hand pushed her tenderly down, the other was going up her skirt, his mouth never leaving hers. Her hands were on his pants and once they accomplished their goal of unfastening the button they moved up to his neck then down to his lower back and up again, her mouth demanding what they both have been craving for so long. He managed to unbutton her blouse but he felt her lower body meet his and he lost control. In an instant they became one, she was his, he was hers.

 

He collapsed on top of her. Both were out of breath. He rolled to one side, one leg across both her legs, his elbow resting on the sofa while his hand held his head. His eyes were drinking the sight of the woman he had loved for so long. With his free hand he caressed her face and then suddenly she sat up.

 

She was not facing him. _‘What have I done, what have I done!’_ She started to get dressed.

 

“Hermione.” His voice was coarse and full of desire still.

 

“Please don’t."   He was sitting on the edge of the sofa watching her put her clothes on, her back to him. She fixed her skirt, buttoned her blouse and with both hands took hold of her hair and tied it. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks felt hot, her whole body ached and trembled. She felt ... spent. She had so much to say to him, to explain, to scream at him and like an animal out of control, in heat, she gave in. He could do that to her. She was measured and cautious and Draco impatient and daring. Making love ... Was that what just happened? Or was it just lust? 

 

He finished buttoning his pants. One of his hands landed on her shoulder. “Please go ... I ... I can’t do this now.” Hermione managed to say. He came closer. Her shoulders dropped, her feet barely moving forward. “Just go, not today, I can’t, I can't.”

 

  He stood alone in the room with a blank expression in his face.


	8. <b>Chapter 8</b>

  
Author's notes:

 

* * *

  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.**

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

**Chapter 8: Dancing Around The Truth.**

 

Back at the Burrow, Ginny reminded herself to act as naturally as possible. Hermione was giving her a second chance; at least that was her hope. She had made a promise not to tell anyone and by Merlin she was going to keep it!

 

“Where have you been?” Molly Weasley was livid.  “You told George you were going to be back in an hour, that was three hours ago!  What is wrong you lately?”

 

“I’m sorry, Mum, lost track of time. I’ll go and apologize to George.”

 

“Don’t bother.  I’ll send them a message.”  Molly saw Ginny’s puzzled expression. “Well, what do you expect? George came here looking for you. I thought you were with Harry but Harry didn’t know where you were either, so...”

 

Two pops interrupted her.  “WHERE THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU!”  yelled George and Harry in unison.

 

‘ _Be calm, Ginny, breathe.'_ “I told Mum I lost track of time.”  Ginny’s voice was soft and calm,  trying not to lose her temper. “My apologies.”

 

George dusted himself off,  made an inaudible sound and went into the kitchen from where he screamed.  “You’d better be ready to make up for it.  Mildred had to stay extra time and was just as worried as the rest of us!”

 

“Nothing to tell me, Harry?”  Ginny was daring him with her tone of voice.

 

Harry was silent. He was examining Ginny’s demeanour.  There was that old mischievous glint in her eyes. Hmmm, he had a suspicion.

 

“I think Mrs. Weasley and George spoke for the three of us.”  He took her hand and with his head motioned her to go outside.

 

Once the door closed behind them, Harry took her other hand and pulled her closer to him. He fixed his eyes on hers, defiantly she held his gaze. _‘You are not going to get anything from me, Harry Potter.'_

 

“Where were you, Ginny? I was getting really worried.”

 

“I lost track of time. My mind wondered and ... no big deal, it happens.” She smiled and kissed him softly.

 

Harry’s green eyes darkened a little. Ginny was hiding something from him and it could only be about one thing in particular. “You found Hermione.”

 

Ginny answered holding his gaze. “No, not yet, but I will.” She was not going to betray Hermione’s trust. If their friendship was to be restored she had to keep her promise.

 

“Nothing at all?” Harry’s keen observation skills were hard at work.

 

“Only managed to find her parents’ home address. The house is empty; at least that is what I was told by the Ministry. Maybe she is in Australia, I was so sure she was in London!” She faked disappointment.

 

‘ _Ginny Weasley, you are one hell of an actress.'_ Harry thought,  going along with the charade.

 

They were walking hand in hand along the path leading to the top of the hill. The summer breeze was warm while the fading daylight was transforming the skies in a kaleidoscope of oranges, yellows and dark blues. Harry was certain Ginny had found Hermione. Why not tell him then? Was Hermione’s resentment more than Draco let on and she refused to listen to Ginny at all? Draco mentioned hatred and Harry knew all about hatred and its effects in one’s judgments. No, Ginny was not acting like someone who had been rejected by an old friend; in fact, she was rather cheerful. They sat down on the grass, side by side, legs crossed.

 

“I read the parchments.” Harry said, his eyes looking far into the distance. He took two tiny pieces of what appeared to be scraps of paper out of one of his pants’ back pocket and using his wand cast the _Engorgio_ spell. The parchments regained their original size. Without saying a word he handed them to Ginny. She stared at them, Harry sliding closer to her to put his arm around her shoulders.

 

 

 

_Dear Harry,_

_I have no idea why I should write to you when it is obvious you do not want to listen to me at all, none of you do. Any idea what it feels like, the whispers as you go by, the reproachful stares, the insults? Thought so, you do know._

 

_I have fallen in love in a way I thought I never would and yes it is with Draco Malfoy. I don’t know how it happened but it did. I fought it, Harry, believe me I tried. Could you stop loving Ginny? Can you snap your fingers and forget how you feel when you look into her eyes, when she touches you or when you kiss her? Do you know why or how it happened that one day you found yourself paying more attention to her every move, how an innocent touch made your skin tingle or how much bright and cheerful the room you were in would become just by her very presence? Love happens, it just does._

 

_I have never betrayed our friendship, ever. I stood by you and helped you in your quest because it was the right thing to do, because you are like a brother to me. I believe in an inclusive Wizarding world without dark magic, wasn’t it why we fought that last battle? You honestly believe I am a traitor! You can stand by and let Ron spew venom like that and do nothing, say nothing after all we went through!_

 

_I love Draco and it has not changed any of my beliefs, it never will. Can you understand that?_

 

_I have gone on and on. I tend to do that. Try to understand, Harry, please. I hold very little hope that you or Ginny would give us a chance or that you will even open this letter seeing that Ron has such a hold on both of you. Still, I can not bring myself to say goodbye. It’s up to you._

 

_Hermione_

 

 

Ginny let her hands drop in her lap. Hermione was an amazing woman and a better friend.  Maybe... if Harry had known about these letters...  She proceeded to read the second parchment. Four lines was all she wrote, her writing irregular, some parts had what looked like tear stains.

 

 

 

_I am gone, Harry.  You didn't ever bother to listen to my testimony during the trial. You win, I can not live among you anymore. My baby deserves more. The world I fought for does not exist. I have nothing left to give._

 

_Hermione._

 

 

Ginny did not move or say anything for a while. Hermione tried in spite of it all; she tried to save their friendship just like she was doing now by giving Ginny another chance. Her admiration for Hermione’s integrity and generosity grew ten fold as she read her words. Ginny was not going to break her promise and if Harry could not understand it then...

 

“I understand now, I think I do.”  Harry was talking as if thinking out loud. “Maybe because a few years had gone by, we are older ... Ron did this to himself. I should ... The war ... the deaths ... I was so tired! She is right; we don’t know what she said at the trial. She just needed us to understand or at least try. You know, without both of them, without you, I don’t know what I would have done all those years at Hogwarts. That last year ... they were ... the most loyal, bravest friends a man could hope for.”

 

He took Ginny’s hands and kissed them. Ron couldn’t find the words Hermione longed to hear for so long and took for granted that she would just sit around and wait. Harry was lucky to have Ginny only ... lately he wasn’t sure about Ginny’s state of mind. It wasn't only Hermione, something else was nagging her.

 

“I love you, Ginny, you know that, don’t you?” His face showed concern.

 

“Of course I do!” He saw it again, her eyes had a hint of ... he was afraid to ask so he took the easy way out and kissed her hungrily, desperately.

 


	9. <b>Chapter 9</b>

  
Author's notes:

 

* * *

  

**Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.**

****  


• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 

**Chapter 9: Tug of War.**

 

There was a tug of war within him. He regretted his impetuosity while at the same time he could not deny he was glad it happened. The minute he held her for those few seconds all he could do was think about how much he had missed her and needed her. Once he kissed her it felt like he was out in the desert, thirsty, oh so thirsty and making love to her was the only way to quench his thirst.

 

He closed his eyes. The cool wind felt like fresh water on his face. He was flying; walking would not do it this time. Just like in Azkaban Draco went deep into that place in his mind he kept well hidden from the Dementors. A tender smile suddenly appeared as he recalled the first time their hands touched. He had fallen asleep by his mother’s hospital bed. He had cried in silence, alone, angry at himself for showing such weakness. Malfoys do not cry. A hand brushed his shoulder. His seeker reflexes kicked in and he grasped it before the owner could retrieve it. He lifted his head; he was holding Hermione’s hand. Astonished he became aware of a hospital blanket hugging his shoulders. Neither one said a word. Hermione went back to her bed while his gaze lingered, not quite sure if it was a vision or a dream. He remembered the first time he smiled at her and she smiled back, almost in disbelief. Their first kiss. He almost laughed out loud as the scene played itself in his head. She was dissecting their feelings for each other, trying to find an explanation for such out of character behaviour, desperately pointing to every reason why it didn’t make sense. As if love ever did. He grabbed her shoulders, pulled her in and kissed her dissipating any doubts. As the weeks went by he learned a kiss was his best weapon when she refused to listen or his patience was running short. It was a skill he enjoyed thoroughly... The first time they made love...

 

Memories of her made the time in Azkaban bearable. His recollection of his release was vague and fuzzy. It was right after the evening visit of the Dementors; not even on his last day was he spared their dreadful presence. There were no words to paint an accurate picture of what those creatures did to a man’s soul. All he remembered was the little boat sliding through the water and him stepping out, confused and elated at the same time. His mother and Hermione were the only people he cared about. There was very little he could do for his mother so all his energy was spent in finding Hermione. Searching for her painted a not so rosy picture of her so called friends. She never told him. Her disappearance before his sentence made sense to Draco now. Still he wished Hermione had shown more confidence in what they felt for each other.

 

Azkaban scarred him. He couldn’t understand exactly what the lingering feelings he had were; all he knew is that he craved loneliness and isolation. That is why he could not face anyone. He swore the elves at Malfoy Mansion to secrecy regarding his release and whereabouts. He searched for Hermione in disguise and when he found her Draco felt small, insignificant, unworthy. It was disheartening and painful. Those were feelings he held on to no matter how hard he tried to overcome them. So he left the wizarding world just like Hermione did hoping deep inside that one day he would have the courage to come back.

 

He took his broom higher. He stretched his arms as if in a victory flight after winning a Quidditch match. Now after having her in his arms, holding his son, a wave of new found emotions engulfed him. Draco didn’t know what exactly was happening to him. He was free. Azkaban had no claim on him anymore and if it did a more powerful force emerging in his heart and mind would fight it. All it took was a threat to his family and whatever was holding him back was no more. Draco was not the same, how could he? He was in love with a Muggle-born and they had a son. Hermione left a world he knew she loved because of him. He had to give back to Hermione what was taken from her.

 

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈  ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ 

 

Hermione’s night was the longest of her life. She went into her room in a dreamlike state letting herself fall on the floor crying uncontrollably, her head on her knees, her shoulders shaking. She was tired, exhausted. That morning her world made sense and in a few hours her painful past came crashing down on her and all expectation of order and predictability disappeared. ‘ _How could I lose control like that? I needed answers, we can’t just ... I wanted him, Merlin knows I wanted him! This is all backwards! What am I to do now?’_ Was she overreacting? After all she loved him, they loved each other, for Merlin’s sake they had a son! In her world order and logic were a must, then again when it came to Draco he managed to throw all her premises out the window.

 

So he found her, what now? What were his plans? Why reach for her now, why not before? Did Azkaban change him? It did; his eyes were ... sad, his anger ... Was that it? She shivered as the image of Sirius Black suddenly appeared in her head. What if Draco wanted her to go back there? She shook her head.  ‘ _I am not going back. What if it all starts all over again? John Albus is so innocent!'_

 

There was Ginny too, who was willing to walk away for good. It hurt to remember those months after the war but it hurt more not having her friend. Regardless of why Ginny felt compelled to find her the fact remained she did and she sounded remorseful and willing to prove herself to her. Harry... Ron ... She shook her head again. No, she could not face them. She was not ready; she did not want to, not them, not the magical world. They all can not demand anything from her, not when it suited them, when it was convenient. She prayed Ginny kept her promise.

 

When she opened her eyes it was the next day, yet she felt like only a few minutes had passed after she finally climbed into bed. John Albus was not in his crib, which meant her son slept with his grandparents. She was wearing the clothes from the day before. She sighed and flung her legs to the side of her bed where she stayed for a few minutes. She could taste Draco in her mouth and her clothes had his scent. Birds were chirping and she swore at them. Very slowly she got up and just as slowly walked over her dresser, picked the brush up and tried to tame her hair. She had no energy or desire to wrestle with it so she tied it and used a headband to keep it down. She stared at the mirror; she looked awful. As she was about to open the door she stopped. Outside, her Mum and Dad waited not only for her to come out but for an explanation. It was a good thing she had to rush to work. It would give her time. Yes, she would ask for time. Maybe over the weekend they could sit down and have a long talk. By then she hoped she could make sense of it all.


	10. <b>Chapter 10</b>

  
Author's notes:

 

* * *

  

**Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.**

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

**Chapter 10: It Feels Like Old Times.**

 

Ginny left home extremely early. If she was going to meet Hermione at five she had better get caught on with inventory and organize the receipts of the sales from the day before. George came down to open the store and found his sister deep in paper work. Shelves were tidied up and even his coffee was brewing! A pang of guilt surfaced; he didn’t mean for Ginny to be up so early. By four  Ginny gave the last instructions to Mildred and darted out of the store. Good thing George was gone for the rest of the day; it meant no questions and no explanations. Ginny was nervous. After a day like yesterday, what was going through Hermione’s mind?

 

Five o’clock found her outside the store, in fact she had been standing for almost ten minutes in front of The Last Page. Remembering Draco’s protective spell she decided to wait outside. Punctual as always, Hermione closed the bookshop and walked over to the bus stop in front of the store where Ginny was sitting waiting for her.

 

“Ready?” Hermione’s voice startled her a little.

 

“If you are.” Ginny didn’t know whether to shake hands or give Hermione a hug so she forced a smile.

 

“Shall we go to the same bar?”  It was a question but Hermione was already walking out of the bus stop towards the bar.

 

They found a remote table for two in the back. Patrons were trickling in; by six the place would be packed. Hermione ordered for both of them. Ginny faked interest in her surroundings while waiting for Hermione to speak first; after all she was the one who asked her to come. Their drinks came.

 

“Did you mean it, what you said yesterday, about walking away if I ask you to?” Hermione asked.

 

“I did. I do,” Ginny answered without hesitation.

 

Hermione saw concern in Ginny’s eyes. “Expressing remorse and regret is not enough, you know. It’s not a guarantee of forgiveness nor does it erase the words or the actions of some.”

 

Hermione’s accusatory tone deflated Ginny. It was not going to be easy. Ginny straightened herself. She searched for the right words and decided to let her heart do the talking. “We all made mistakes and nothing I do or say will change what happened. The war, the dead, the pain … I don’t know, Hermione, I was so tired, so angry and then ... I never imagined you with somebody else. We all could see how you felt about my brother and he about you, it was so obvious. I now understand you needed more from him. Believe me, I do understand but ... Draco! The same guy who loathed Muggles more than anything else, the one who treated you like dirt for six years. The son of Death Eaters!”

 

Hermione interrupted her. “It was for me to decide, Ginny, not you, or Harry or anyone; you should have trusted me. You should have known me better. People accused me of being a traitor, a traitor! Of course they would when none other than Ron Weasley was screaming it at the top of his lungs and Harry Potter said nothing.” She was angry and having Ginny in front of her was the catalyst she needed to finally let her pain and anger run out of her. With every word the weigh on her shoulders lessened. She wondered about the time when she would finally face them; well she wondered no more.

 

“I wasn’t looking for your approval; I was looking for understanding and guidance from my friends because I was so confused. I was falling for Draco Malfoy; it was not supposed to happen ever! He ... is not, was not the person I thought. You didn’t have to like him, you needed to trust me. My best friends ... Ginny,  I loved you all so much, I still do. Tell me how do I forget? How do I forgive you?”

 

There were no tears. Both young women stared at each other as if searching for a clue, an answer to the question. “How about we keep on talking, no holding back, no lies. We go at your pace.” Ginny lips curved into a smile. “After what I witnessed yesterday, there is no doubt in my mind Malfoy is crazy for you. I am happy for you, believe me.”

 

Hermione’s bottom lip was caught between her teeth and her hands were playing nervously with her drink.

 

“Hermione, is something wrong? What happened with Malfoy after I left?” Ginny asked.

 

Hermione’s chest was heaving quickly. Her face grew hot as the memory of his hands on her body and his lips on her mouth made her middle warm again. “We ... he ... I ...” Hermione’s elbows were on the table, her face in her hands. “We slept together,” she blurted.

 

Ginny tensed. Her hand was on her mouth and her expression one of absolute astonishment. “You mean ...”

 

“I mean one minute he is standing like he was under some spell and next he is kissing me and then I ...” Hermione sounded as shocked as Ginny was. “And why am I telling you this! What the bloody hell is wrong with me! The bastard ...”

 

“This is the bastard you love and have a son with.” Ginny was a bit amused at her friend’s reaction. It was evident these two were head-over-heels in love with each other.

 

“Ginny, I have not seen him for more than two years! I thought he was dead and then what happens? I asked for explanations. We need to talk, don’t we? I let him take me right in my parents’ living room!” Hermione’s tone was the same she had when she used to give them answers she thought were obvious.

 

“Wow, right in the living room!” Ginny could not help herself any longer. She had a wide grin in her face.

 

“It’s not funny!” Hermione almost screamed.

 

“I don’t understand. He loves you, you love him. What more do you need?”

 

“I need to understand why he waited all this time to come out of wherever he was hiding. All this time he could have been a part of our lives and he chose not to. And when he finally is forced to confront me rather than an explanation I let him seduce me like a school girl!” That was Hermione all right, demanding a rational explanation for the irrational behaviour of two people who had gone through what they went through and loved each other deeply.

 

“You are human. You missed him and you thought you lost him. Yesterday was one crazy day, Hermione, don’t beat yourself up.” Ginny had her hand on Hermione’s.

 

Hermione’s gaze softened. “I missed you.”

 

“Hermione, I ...” Ginny sounded remorseful again.

 

“It’s fine, Ginny. At my own pace, remember?” Hermione was smiling for the firs time. Ginny nodded.

 

After a few of minutes of a comfortable silence Ginny asked, “So are you meeting with him again?”

 

“I don’t know. We didn’t have time ... for a conversation. I left him standing alone after ... you know.” Hermione was embarrassed. She was also surprised by the ease with which she could confide in Ginny, as if nothing had happened.

 

“Hermione, talk to him. Don’t complicate things... unless there is something else.” Hermione was biting her bottom lip again.  'S _o there is something else bothering her.'_

 

“I don’t even know where he lives.” There was concern in Hermione's voice.

 

“Trust me, you will see him again.” Ginny was enjoying her friend’s mortified look. Hermione smiled again right after punching Ginny in her arm. They talked some more and made plans to go out on Sunday;  Hermione was taking John Albus to the fair.


	11. <b>Chapter 11</b>

  
Author's notes:

**  
**

* * *

  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.**

 

 • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 

**Chapter 11: Behind These Words ...**

 

This time, Ginny Apparated outside the Burrow. She decided the backyard was a better place so that she could walk around,  take a peek inside and depending on whom she saw, she could prepare herself better for questions about her whereabouts. Mum was in the kitchen, apparently alone, while the living room was empty. As she was about to open the front door, Harry appeared out of nowhere.

 

“You are early, don’t you help George close the store?” he observed.

 

Ginny’s face was transparent this time, as she was scrambling for an answer.  “Mildred can close;  she is more than capable. I went early, like three hours before the stores open. George asked me to make up for time lost, so I did.”  She made the motion to kiss him but he backed away. Harry’s green eyes were darker and displayed irritation.

 

“You are lying to me and I don’t appreciate it,"  he said, his voice deep and low.

 

“And I don’t like it when you question and doubt me,” Ginny answered back, sounding irritated.

 

“You were with Hermione.” Harry stated simply. He was not going to play cat and mouse anymore.

 

“So what if I was?” Ginny was now having a hard time restraining her temper. “I told you I was going to try to find her but you needed some sort of sign from Merlin knows where to figure out what to do and I didn’t want to wait.”

 

She was standing at the door and he was not letting her in which made Ginny angrier. She could see where the discussion was going and turned around taking a few steps away from the door and the kitchen window. He followed her.

 

“So you lied. You could have told me ..."  Harry was angry because for the first time in a long while Ginny didn’t seem to need or care about what he thought.

 

“I made a promise and I won’t break it,” added Ginny.

 

Her mother was now aware of them,  probably because their voices carried through the open window. Ginny started to walk towards the edge of the garden but Harry grabbed her arm. With a swift movement she freed herself of Harry’s hold and made a quick run away from the house, making him follow her. The last thing she needed was one more person bombarding her with questions. She turned around as soon as they were at a safe distance. Her eyes were firing arrows at Harry. “Harry Potter, I made a promise and you are not going to interfere!”

 

“She is my friend, Ginny. She was my friend first before you came along!” he said, trying to control his voice as he glanced quickly towards the house. He did not want Mrs.  Weasley involved, not yet anyway.

 

“She is not your friend now!”  Ginny’s face was getting hot;  controlling her temper always made her work overtime.

 

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” asked Harry, his voice higher now.

 

“It means that she is not ready.  She is hurt, Harry, more than I thought. She is...”  Ginny was not going to talk about Hermione’s issues with Malfoy either.

 

Harry was not listening. “AND WHO THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU TO TELL ME WHETHER OR NOT I CAN GO AND TALK TO HER? WHY ARE YOU MAKING DECISIONS FOR HER?”

 

Ginny was in panic, her anger in crescendo.  ' _I am your bloody girlfriend, you idiot!'_ she thought. If Hermione felt cornered by all of them at once, she would go back into the hole she was just starting to climb out of.

 

“Listen to me, Harry James Potter. She doesn’t want anyone to know where she is. She is confused, hurt and made me promise not to tell you where she is. If you try to see her, whatever trust I have with her will be gone and I will not forgive you if I lose her friendship again. Not when she is willing to give me another chance.”

 

Harry was running both hands through his head, pacing back and forth. He stopped and faced Ginny. His emerald green eyes narrowed with frustration and anger. “What am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for your permission?” He asked, feeling a bit calmer now.

 

“Find something else to do in the meantime. Merlin knows you have the bloody time!” Ginny said cruelly.

 

“WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?” he shouted, the veins on his neck bulging. His anger rose again.

 

“I don’t know, Harry. You come by the store every other day. You are always here. There must be something productive you could be doing instead of keeping track of me!”

 

“I AM YOUR BOYFRIEND! I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO KNOW WHERE YOU ARE AND WHO ARE YOU WITH!” Harry shouted, all his control leaving him.

 

“EVERY RIGHT. EVERY RIGHT! YOU SOUND JUST LIKE MY THICK HEADED BROTHER! SO I AM THE REASON YOU NEVER FINISHED SCHOOL, YOU DON’T GO OUT WITH FRIENDS ... YOU LIVE ISOLATED FROM THE WORLD, BECAUSE YOU NEED TO KNOW MY EVERY MOVE!” Ginny shouted back at him, not able to take it any more.

 

Harry stood in silence. This was what lied underneath Ginny’s almost impalpable changes. She was no longer proud of him. He was crowding her and she was tired of it.

 

Her chest was going in and out in rapid movements. She regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth but her problems with Harry were not the issue now; it was Hermione.

 

When she spoke again, her voice was controlled and soft. Her anger, on the other hand, was permeating her every thought. Her hazel eyes were pleading and at the same time threatening. “If you ruin this, Harry, I will never forgive you.”

She turned and rushed towards the house. Her heart was beating fast in her chest and a lonely tear ran down her face. She slammed the door on her way in and went up the stairs three at the time slamming her bedroom door too.

 

Molly Weasley came out the kitchen as soon as she heard the door banging. The shouting match had finished and, by the looks of it, it was a big one. Harry had left and that second bang meant Ginny was in her room. She shrugged her shoulders. Whatever the row was about, it was not the first or the last one they would have. Ginny and Harry would reconcile soon enough; they always did.

 


	12. <b>Chapter 12</b>

  
Author's notes:

**  
**

* * *

  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

 

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.**

 • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

**Chapter 12:  What Is Missing From Your Eyes**

 

Sooner or later she had to face her parents. Saturdays and Sundays were her days off. Mr. Lynch would rather take care of his shop during the weekend. In return, Hermione would stay until closing time during weekdays, usually till 9 pm. She considered herself lucky as this arrangement provided her with time with her son and her parents with a well deserved break. John Albus could be a handful and in spite of her mother’s assurances that taking care of her grandson was no trouble it never stopped bothering Hermione that her mother was not doing something she learned to love and was good at, like teaching.

 

“Mummy, mummy up!” John Albus called, standing on his crib and holding on to the hand rail. His blonde hair was in need of a brush. His impatience was growing. _‘Like father, like son,'_ Hermione thought before she was truly awake.

 

Opening one eye she realized it was only six o’clock. She let her wild morning hair cover her face while she wished for another hour of sleep. On Fridays she would sweep and tidy up the shop plus prepare the bank deposit for Mr. Lynch along with the reconciled receipts of the week. She had come home late, too tired to eat or even sit with her parents. The past couple of days her sleep had been erratic and her energy level extremely low. Draco had not made any attempts to contact her, not since that unforgettable Tuesday. Would he be at the park today? Slowly she pushed herself up and sat on the edge of her bed both hands palms down on either side. Three days and nothing! _‘And now I am wondering if he is going to be at the park! What if I don’t go, Draco? What if you have to_ _come right at my door?’_   Mad at herself and at Draco she stood up.

 

“Up, Mummy, up, Mummy!” cried John Albus as he was trying to climb out, his leg extended upwards, his facial expression a warning to his mother: get me out of here or else ... No doubt, he was Draco’s son. He wanted what he wanted, now,  just like... Better not think about Tuesday.

 

“Mum is coming, love. First let me take care of this wild animal on top of my head.”  She walked towards a life size mirror placed by the only window in the room.

 

Once her hair was out of the way she picked John Albus up kissing his cheeks many times. His laughter was music to her ears. She had her hands under his armpits and lifted him a metre or so above her bed and then let him fall. It was a game he loved to play, the farther the distance from the bed the better; but it was too early in the morning, Mum and Dad were in all probability sleeping in. John Albus loved heights, running and all sort of heart stopping activities. Hermione couldn’t help but be a bit overprotective when they were out and about. With clean diapers on, John Albus was twisting the handle of the door to get out, his mother rushing after him. Both made their way to the kitchen.

 

Half an hour later Candice was up. John Albus had cereal spread on the table of his high chair, eating his cheerios one at the time. Candice poured a cup of tea, kissed her grandson on top of his head and sat at the table where Hermione held her cup with both hands. They exchanged glances. Candice looked impatient and ready to explode. Today was imperative to hear from their daughter what had happened.

 

Soon after, John Granger strolled into the kitchen. Unlike Candice his demeanour was relaxed and just like his wife he gave his grandson a kiss. On his way to pour himself some tea he caressed Hermione’s cheek.

 

John Albus, bored with breakfast, was dropping his cheerios on the floor having a jolly good time while doing it. Grandpa Granger took him out of his chair and let him run for his toys in the living room. He sat down beside his wife and he nodded at his daughter.  “We are listening.”

 

Where to start?  She couldn’t possibly tell them everything.  It would take days.  Besides the magical world was a whole universe in itself, which to a Muggle made no sense at all. They knew about the war and that she was injured but not how severely she was hurt. They also knew about her change of heart about Harry and the Wesleys but not all the details, and they knew very little about the father of her son.  ' _Better stick to the issue at hand, Draco and Ginny.'_ thought Hermione.

 

“It has been a rather unusual week. That’s the reason why I needed some time to ..." She hadn’t figure out what to do about Draco but Ginny ... better start with Ginny.  “Ginny is Ron’s sister; actually she has six brothers,  she is the youngest.  Ginny searched for me and wants to ... well,  I am willing to give her another chance ..."  Hermione thought there was not other way to put it.

 

“But you told us in so many words they hurt and betrayed you!”  cried her mother.  Candice didn’t need to know details. She knew that these people had hurt her daughter and for  two years she had watched Hermione wither away, with no ambition other than to come home to John Albus. Hermione was but a ghost of the bright, enthusiastic girl she remembered. No, they could not come back as if nothing had happened. “You said you were done with magic, with the Wizarding world, with the lot of them!” Her Mum was never good at keeping what she thought under control.

 

“I ... you know some of what happened but Mum, Daddy, there is so much more!  Of all of them Ginny ... I cannot be as angry at her as I am at Harry and Ron. It is a long story but I missed her. She was my only friend. She is my only friend and I need her.” Hermione was not sure she should talk to her mother in such an unwavering tone as the one she used with the last sentence, but she did.

 

“So, that’s that. I am supposed to open the doors to them as if ... and how about John Albus's father?  Hermione ... he comes after all this time ... not a word from him, nothing!”

 

Her mother was not going to make it easy for her. And her father? He hadn’t said anything. One of his hands rested on his wife’s shoulder and so far he just listened to the exchange between mother and daughter. Not knowing what he thought alarmed Hermione.

 

John Albus was trying to get in his mother’s lap,  his favourite toy, a dinosaur, in his hand. Hermione decided to accommodate him, feeling his presence may temperate her mother’s mood.

 

Candice took a look at her grandson, before continuing. “How about his father ... where is he? Don’t tell me you are going to let him come and go as he pleases without taking care of his responsibilities! You asked me to leave so you two could talk, that was Tuesday, what happened?” Realizing she had been doing all the talking she turned to her husband. “And how come you are sitting there saying nothing?”

 

With a smirk on his face John answered, “Someone has to do the listening part in this conversation. You left me no other choice.”

 

Candice mumbled something under her breath and kept quiet, her narrowed eyes daring her husband to add to the discussion.

 

Hermione waited expectantly. John Granger was the listening type, the one who studied an issue until he was satisfied that every possibility was taken into consideration. Once he made a decision there was no way he would back down, therefore, Hermione feared him the most.

 

“Are you sure about Ginny? No doubts about where she stands?” John was determined to cover every point, and Hermione didn’t feel up to it. She had barely slept, her head was starting to hurt and John Albus was making so much racket with the stupid dinosaur she couldn’t concentrate.

 

As if reading her mind, her Dad placed John Albus in the playpen, gave him his favourite toys (the ones they kept hidden for occasions such as this one) and came back to the kitchen. She had fifteen minutes at least before her son demanded attention.

 

“So far Ginny has shown regret and remorse for ... what she did. She was young, her brother and so many others had died during the war ... I can trust her.” Hermione said biting her bottom lip nervously.

 

“You trust her, you trusted her before. What has changed?” John Granger answered staring at his daughter. He was looking right into her eyes.

 

“What I feel, Dad. What I felt as I was listening to her; that is what changed. The memories she brought back. Like I said, not until we had a long talk did I realize how much I missed her and needed her.”  She allowed her gaze to meet her Dad’s.

 

“What about John’s father? What did you two decide?” John knew what was behind his wife’s angry words. Hermione might go back to magic and wizards and take their grandson with her. If they pushed too hard...

 

“We are talking. ‘ _We will talk so help me!'_ she told herself.“  It’s just, I was not expecting any of this to happen, not like this."  ‘ _Do I tell them about Azkaban? Do they need to know?’_ she asked herself.

 

“Do you love him?”  asked John, and for the first time he showed vulnerability and deep concern, as he held Hermione’s hands in his. “Does he love you?”

 

“We love each other very much,” she answered without hesitation.

 

“Obviously there is more that you don’t want or are not ready to tell us. We respect that. It’s all right.” Hermione’s expression told him she was grateful for understanding. “Hermione, your mother and I love you. You know that, don’t you?”  She nodded. “You are a mother, you would die for your son. If anyone hurt him in anyway I’m sure you would pick your wand and do ... whatever needs to be done to protect him. We are no different. We witnessed your tears, your nightmares and have seen your scars but what hurts the most is ... what we don’t see in your eyes, what is missing.”  She was about to talk but he motioned her to wait.  “We are not comfortable with the idea of having those who inflicted so much pain back in your life. You understand why we cannot open our arms and welcome them unless ...”

 

“They prove themselves to you,” she interrupted.

 

“Unless I see what is missing from your eyes back in them, then I will know.” John got up and gave her a kiss on her forehead. He had said what he needed to say.


	13. <b>Chapter 13</b>

  
Author's notes:

 

* * *

  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

 

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.**

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

**Chapter 13:  Aren’t We Talking?**

 

He was nervous. He, Draco Malfoy,  felt like a child about to be scolded for getting into the cookie jar.  ' _What if she doesn’t come? If she comes, what do I tell her?'_ He was pacing back and forth brushing his hair with both his hands. _‘And why couldn’t I control myself?  Right in the living room!'_ She couldn’t be that mad at him, after all she was more than a willing participant that afternoon. He felt the tension rise between his thighs as he recollected the events of four days ago. Hermione was going to bombard him with questions, not before giving him a piece of her mind for this long interlude. He just hoped she would listen.

 

_‘But if we go back ... and where exactly are we going to live, Malfoy Manor?’_   No, she was tortured,  almost raped there. Hermione would never accept the Manor as her home.  And what about John Albus?  Draco’s face broke into a tender smile. He had held his son in his arms and it felt wonderful!  Just as quickly his face turned somber. John Albus was a Malfoy,  the son of the man who tried to kill the beloved Dumbledore and to top it all his grandparents were famous Death Eaters.  They would never let John Albus forget that or maybe... Sirius Black claimed the same background and yet Draco was sure no one held Sirius accountable for the sins of his family. 

 

What about money?  Their jobs in Muggle London would not be enough to raise a family, would they?  He was renting a room and she was living with her parents and only dead would he accept sharing the same roof with the Grangers;  not after witnessing her Mum’s reaction a few days ago. On the other hand, why live in Muggle London?  He had more than enough money so that Hermione wouldn’t want for anything. Plus he had made a promise to himself,  Hermione belonged in the Wizarding world and he was going to take her back where she belonged.

 

None of this matter until they talked. As he waited behind one of the shrubs at the park he closed his eyes and imagined kissing Hermione again.

 

 

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

   

 

At last John Albus was sitting on his stroller! Leaving the house was always a struggle. Ever since the blond haired toddler started walking he refused any other method of locomotion but his legs or grandpa’s car.  Hermione had tried to explain to her son that either he held her hand at all times, which he had said he wouldn't do or else their trip would have to be with him sitting on the contraption he had learned to loath.  Today he was absolutely horrid. He sat on the floor crying and screaming, shaking his head in disapproval while Hermione sat on one of the armchairs waiting patiently, her face showing no signs of irritation or impatience. She was flipping through a magazine showing no interest in the performance of her son, although internally she had the urge to pick him up and knock, literally, some since into him.

 

Candice, as grandmothers usually do, had a much better approach: she would give in as soon as the first tear insinuated itself. Today, grandma had to watch from the sidelines as grandpa John did not approve of interfering, especially if his grandson was behaving like the spoiled brat that he was.  So John Granger motioned his wife to follow him to the garden in the back of the house. Weekends were their time together and he had plans.

 

Ten minutes later, hiccupping, with his nose running and his beautiful silver/blue eyes full of tears  John Albus Malfoy was sitting on the stroller calling out to his mother in a perfect sentence: “Ready, Mummy, go!”

 

The neighbourhood park was nothing out of the ordinary. It was situated three blocks north from Hermione’s house, right beside the local public school. It was not a big, wide spread  piece of land but rather small and cosy. Half a dozen young trees surrounded the playground while the perimeter was determined by tall bushes. Behind those bushes more tress could be seen. The grass was green and bright, as new spring grass usually looked. Hermione would let John Albus play in the fenced part of the playground designed for the younger crowd. He could be contained there, for now. As they were close enough Hermione unfastened the straps knowing her son was more than eager to start running towards one of his favourites places in the world only this time John decided to play a ‘catch me’ game with Mum and sprinted towards the bushes. Hermione chased after him but didn’t have to go too far.

 

“Where do you think you are going, John?”  Draco made his sudden appearance by scooping his son up, a big smile on his face. John Albus said nothing for a second and then let out a big wail; the stranger had startled him. Hermione’s face displayed no surprise;  she was angry and Draco had to be blind not to notice. She started walking towards father and son but Draco ignored her and his son’s cries and walked past her, went inside the toddlers' playground and gently placed John on the ground. Hermione closed the gate behind her. John Albus was clinging to her leg, giving the blonde stranger a weary glance. Hermione folded the stroller, took John’s hand and sat on one of the benches.

 

John Albus wasn’t sure what to do. He was standing, one arm on his Mum’s knee, looking back and forth at his mother and the stranger. “It's okay, John, go play.  Mummy is right here and ... he is not going to hurt you.  Go, darling, go."   This time Hermione was looking straight into Draco’s eyes.

 

“He is his Dad and I will never hurt him,” said Draco, his eyes piercing her. He was somewhat irritated by Hermione’s remarks. Four days ago she could barely look at him,  even after displaying that she desired him as much as he did her. Today she sounded and looked different;  much like the girl who for the first time in his life he could not intimidate and slowly, without any warning, won his heart. He sat beside her,  again desire burning deep within him. Both were glancing at their son. Draco took one of her hands without turning his head. His thumb started to draw circles on the palm of her hand. Hermione jumped a little, while Draco’s face revealed a knowing smile. She looked at Draco,  whose silver eyes reminded her of the colour of the ocean during a full moon. He held her gaze. 

 

She spoke first. “I don’t know if I should slap you, scream at you or just ..."  She couldn’t continue.  Hermione was angry but mostly at herself for wishing he would kiss her, the way only he knew. If she couldn’t control those thoughts how was she going to have a decent conversation? The way he was holding her hand wasn’t helping either.

 

“Was I that bad? I am kind of out of practice,”  he said with a smirk on his face. 

 

Infuriated, she tried to pry her hand away but he held on tight. Hermione then rose only to end up on Draco’s lap;  his quick Seeker reflexes had not been lost. Both her hands were behind her back, held by only one of Draco’s hands while the other hand was on the nape of her neck. Her body was tense. His face was coming closer, his eyes glowing and mischievous.  Her eyes were defiant with a hint of longing. He was now touching her nose with his lips, then the side of her mouth, his tongue caressing her lips. She was about to speak when he took her mouth, grinning as he entered her. It took a few seconds and then Draco could feel the tension leave her body. He let her hands go and grabbed her by the waist. Hermione moved her hands to his chest and then to his neck. Oblivious to the amused and disapproving stares of the people around them reluctantly their lips parted.

 

“I am sorry, bad habits are hard to break,”  Draco said softly.

 

“I noticed,” she added smiling. She loved him, she missed him and he could be a total prick. “We need to talk, Draco, please?” She added while licking her lips, tasting him in them. 

 

_'Is she flirting with me?'_ Asked Draco to himself.

 

“Aren’t we talking?”  His eyes were glued to her lips and what her tongue was doing to them. “If you don’t stop, Granger... I swear...” he said playfully. “I thought you were angry with me?” He wasn’t sure what to make of her change of attitude.

 

“I am. It just occurred to me that ... oh well it doesn't matter,” she answered, mocking him with her gaze as if she knew something and he didn't.  Suddenly her tone became serious. “Why wait all this time, Draco?  The Ministry didn’t know where you were, no one knew.”

    

“You looked for me?” he asked incredulously.

 

At that moment, John Albus ran back to his mother. The blonde man no longer intimidated him. In fact the toddler was trying to move his Mum away from Draco. His parents obliged. Hermione sat back in the bench. John Albus went to his stroller, took a juice box out from the bag hanging from it and sat between Hermione and Draco. Draco moved closer, amused by John Albus's claim on his mother. He embraced Hermione and waited for her answer.

 

John Albus finished with his drink, climbed into his mother’s lap and just as quickly climbed down, running back to his sand toys.  

 

Hermione resumed their conversation. “I knew your release was scheduled for September. I went to the Ministry disguised as an old witch, claiming I was looking for somebody who was incarcerated with you. The wizard in charge told me your release was scheduled for the week before but some of the paper work was misplaced and could not confirm it. He was in a chatty mood; I learned that Mr. Weasley had requested a search for you but nothing came up. Azkaban had records of your imprisonment but not of your release and Malfoy Manor was abandoned. I thought the worst.” She gave him a recriminatory glance. “Why? How could you be so close? I don’t understand.”

 

“Azkaban ... is a place where nightmares, your most painful memories and your deepest fears are relived every day. It left me ... empty, feeling worthless. I thought I should protect you.” Draco had his elbows on his knees and his hands were clasped together. He was looking into the distance.

 

“Protect me?  From whom, from what?” asked Hermione trying to understand.

 

“I am the man who tried to kill Dumbledore, the son of Death Eaters. After learning about John Albus I was so ashamed. It’s hard to explain what Azkaban did to me, Hermione. I truly thought I was not worth it, that I didn’t deserve you.”  He turned to face her and Hermione stood up looking down at him.

 

“Draco, I know, remember?  I am the woman who didn’t care. Have you forgotten about us? What I said during the trial?”  Her voice was trembling.

 

Draco stood up and held her by the waist. He was so much taller than her, she had to tilt her head upwards. His eyes were glistening and his voice was full of love. “I remember you telling them about a person I didn’t know existed. I never thought of me as a victim because of my upbringing or of Draco Malfoy as anything but a coward until you came along and declared that for me to love you was proof enough that the man they thought I was no longer dwelled in me. I remember what you said about the war. You told them you fought for all wizards and witches, for people like me so that I could be true to myself, to the goodness you were sure I had within me. Merlin, Hermione! You fought for me. It never crossed my mind you felt this way about... us, the people who inflicted so much pain to so many. I am here now and I am not leaving ever again. I love you more than you can imagine, don’t ever doubt it.”

 

He kissed her. It was a slow, gentle, loving kiss. Once again nods of approval as well as reprobating stares swept around their surroundings. Their lips parted. Hermione, aware of the stares, tried to break away from Draco but he wouldn’t let her go.

 

“Why did you disappear before the verdict? It drove me insane not knowing where you were,” he asked her.

 

“I found out I was pregnant. You were going to Azkaban. I was not sure what knowing about the baby would do to you.”  She hesitated before adding, “I was alone. My friends ... you know what happened, I guess. I was afraid you would be angry.”

 

“Angry!” He was surprised at her statement. “It would have given me something to look forward to.”

 

“I am sorry, Draco.” She appeared remorseful. “It was such a shock to find out about the baby!”

 

Draco was smiling. “Really!  You were surprised?  If my memories are correct we kind of had the odds against us not getting pregnant. Merlin knows the hours, the days we spent in my room, well, mostly my bed...”

 

“Draco!”  Hermione was blushing. 

 

Draco turned his gaze towards his son who was running now, trying to catch a butterfly and when he realized it was impossible decided to climb the steps to the slide. “He never stops, does he?” he asked.

 

“Only when he sleeps."  She smiled and turned to watch her son failing miserably as he was trying to place his feet on the steps.  Draco strolled towards his son and helped him get to the top of the slide and, running around, waited for John Albus to slide down. Draco caught him and tossed him in the air. John Albus laughed and ran back to the steps, screaming, “More, more!” The higher Draco tossed him the more delighted John Albus was.  Hermione came closer.

 

“Draco stop, he might fall!” she said with concern in her voice.

 

“Oh this is nothing, wait until he starts using his broom,” responded Draco with pride in his voice.

 

Hermione's features showed distaste and fear at the thought of her son flying. “He is not using a broom, ever.” She took John from his father’s arms and, walking briskly, placed John Albus in one of the swings. Draco followed her.

 

Draco was not sure what she meant. “What are you saying?” he asked uncertainly.

 

“What I said. He is not going to use a broom, or a wand or anything of the sort.”  Hermione was pushing John Albus mechanically, disguising the fear of the results of her statement.

 

Draco’s plans were shattered. She had no desire to go back. But why? Things were different now; they were together. He didn’t mind Muggle London but he could not forget he was a wizard. He missed magic and as much as he learned to appreciate Muggles, it was not his world and neither was hers. For Merlin’s sake Hermione was the brightest witch of her age! Did she really wish to spend the rest of her life selling books to Muggles? Didn't she have any ambitions anymore?   He was leaning against one of the posts holding the swings to the ground. Hermione was struggling with her feelings. He saw anger but what permeated her features the most was fear.  One thing he knew for sure was that Hermione was not a coward therefore whatever the reason behind her words were Draco knew it was much more than Hermione was willing to admit to him or herself.  His lips curved into an almost invisible smile;  his eyes shone brightly. It took an event outside his control to forget the misgivings he had about confronting Hermione and the result was the epiphany he had Tuesday night. Those bastards ... they had no idea how much it hurt her, the trauma it caused when she saw everything she fought for vanish because of whom she loved. Well, now it was his turn. She stood by him when no one else would because she loved him in spite of who he was and what he had done in the past. Now he would help her to regain her self-respect and the place she deserved in the Wizarding world. He would be relentless and merciless and it would start now.

 

“Any idea what you'll do when the letter from Hogwarts comes?”  The sound of his voice startled her.

 

“You just said ...”  she said in soft voice.

 

“I know what I said about my past and my parents but John is also the son of the smartest, most generous, bravest witch there is. It is not about us anymore, Hermione. It is about him.”  Draco walked the little distance that separated him from the swing and caressed his son’s face. “He is a Malfoy and most likely a wizard. I’ll be damned if I let anyone take his future away from him. We don’t have the right and neither does anyone else!”

 

The determination in his voice sent shivers down her spine. Hermione was speechless. What was Draco saying? To go back to face the stares, the whispers and the insults?  No, she couldn’t go through that again. “My son is not going to be ostracized, insulted like I was. Maybe I am a coward but John is just a little boy...”

 

Draco didn’t let her finish. “With a mother and a father who love him. You risked your life a hundred times helping that bloody bastard. You fought Death Eaters without giving it a second thought! Don’t tell me that, after going through what you went through all those years at Hogwarts, a few stares and lame insults scared you. I am with you now, remember?” Draco was eagerly waiting for an answer.

 

Again she was speechless. She was pushing the swing with one hand, while attempting to come up with an answer; she didn’t have one. Draco had placed his hands on her waist. He was aware he had touched a nerve. She looked so vulnerable, like a wounded animal with no way out. He could wait for an answer and it needn’t be today. Her eyes opened wide as she felt his lips on hers. Draco was pleasantly surprised when Hermione deepened her kiss, hungrily and desperately. Her hands went around his neck, her fingers playing with his hair. They had certainly become the entertainment for the adults visiting the park.

 

Suddenly the spell was broken by John Albus’s  screams. The toddler had managed to get out of the swing, hurting himself in the process. He was now flat on his stomach. Quickly, Hermione picked him up, brushing the sand from his face, relieved there were no injuries other than a tiny scrape in one of his cheeks. No soothing words or kisses from his mother would stop his cries.

 

“I think I better take him home,” said Hermione. She made her way to the stroller folded by the bench.

 

Listening to his mother’s proposition John Albus cried louder and shaked his head angrily. “No, no home. I don’t want to!” His soiled face displayed little rivers of tears flowing down his cheeks.

 

Amused and concerned Draco asked, “Is he this head strong all the time?”

 

“All the bloody time,” a flustered Hermione answered while trying to sit her son on the stroller. John Albus was fighting her every way he could.

 

Draco kneeled down, motioning Hermione to let him try. “John, how about Daddy puts you on his shoulders? You can touch the sky. You’ll be very tall.”

 

That did it. John suddenly stopped. Draco wiped John’s tears, cleaned his nose and put him on his shoulders. Looking down at Hermione he said with a broad smile. “Shall we?”

 

Hermione took hold of the stroller and headed home. She was not ready ... not by any stretch of the imagination to witness a confrontation between her parents and Draco. A few days ago her life was a well organized affair; all of a sudden she didn’t know what was going to happen from one day to the next. Draco was behaving as if going to the park and then back home was a common occurrence. There were unresolved issues between them and if he thought those wonderful kisses of his would change her mind or shut her up, well he was in for a rude awakening. Or maybe she should think of another strategy; Merlin, she was jelly in his hands when he kissed her! Her son’s laughter brought her attention back to the two men in her life. They were home.  Hermione’s heart was pounding fast. 

 

“We are home. Down you go.” Draco arms were holding his son but John would have none of that; he was having too much fun. His tiny arms were around Draco’s neck.

 

“Any suggestions, Mum? I can put him down but I’m afraid of the racket he’ll make and we don’t want Mr. and Mrs. Granger to get the wrong impression, do we?” Draco was having fun watching Hermione’s panicked expression.

 

With her hands on her hips and a stern face she addressed her son. “John Albus, if you don’t let go of ...” she hesitated for a second, “your Dad, no toys for your bath, no story and definitely no a kiss from Mummy before bed time. Get down this instance!”  

 

Under any other circumstances she would have dragged him into the house but Draco was right, a screaming John would bring Candice out and then most likely, all hell would break loose.

 

“How about I take him straight to the bathtub, while you get his dinner ready?” Draco was not going to back down. If it were up to Hermione no time would be the right time to be introduced properly to her parents.

 

“Draco, please, not now. They are not expecting us, I mean, expecting you. Please?” she implored.

 

“I am going in with my son, who by the way is cutting the circulation to my head. Are you coming?” He was on top of the stairs. Hermione dropped her shoulders and braced herself for a very unpleasant confrontation.

 

As soon as they went in she saw the note on the coffee table. _‘Mum and I decided to go out for dinner and watch a movie afterwards. Don’t wait up.  Love, Mum and Dad.'_ That was a relief.

 

“Bath? I am getting a headache.” Draco asked as John was trying to touch the ceiling with his help.

 

"Straight down the hall, on your right. I’ll get the toys.” Hermione answered. She was mad and for some reason very tired. 

 

She handed Draco the toys, more like threw them at him and stormed out of the bathroom. _‘I cannot think straight with him around. The nerve of this man!  He doesn’t ask my opinion, he storms in, takes over. I could kill him!'_ Hermione’s thoughts didn’t stop her from going through the motions of getting John Albus’s  pyjamas and dinner ready. She could do this in her sleep. Once everything was in place she went into the bathroom. 

 

“What the happened here!” she exclaimed annoyed. Draco was soaking wet, the floor was a mess and her son was splashing madly, water hitting her in the face.“Are you out of your mind!”  She threw towels on the floor, giving a searing glance at Draco. She grabbed another towel and hit Draco with it and with a swift brush against his legs picked John up. “Thank you for your help!”

 

“Sorry, he was having so much fun,”  Draco answered, not sure what the big deal was.

 

With John in her arms she said fuming, “You are the grown up, he is the child. His food is ready; I need to get him into his pyjamas and on top of that to clean this mess!”

 

“You go ahead. I’ll clean this up.”  Draco tried to touch her but she backed away. “Hermione, it's just water.” He pushed her out the door. “Don’t worry. Go, go, it's okay.”

 

Whispering under her breath she complied.  Draco took his wand out of its holster and with few swishes man and bathroom were dry.

 

While John was having his supper, Draco kept his distance and said nothing. He thoroughly enjoyed watching his son eat and chat with his Mum. He had missed many a times like this and it didn’t matter anymore why. What mattered was that he was now part of his life. Hermione never looked more beautiful, in spite of the angry frown on her face every time they exchanged glances. By eight o'clock John could barely keep his eyes open. He followed Hermione to her bedroom. She lay her son down and gently stroked his hair several times until the toddler closed his eyes. “Mummy loves you very much, darling,” she said softly.

 

Two arms came from behind and wrapped themselves around her waist. “I had fun today,” Draco was whispering in her ear, his lips almost touching her.

 

“I am tired, Draco, you better ...”  Hermione found it hard to argue when his lips were now on her neck nibbling from one side to the other.

 

“Let’s go to bed then.” His hands were unbuttoning her blouse, while his mouth was now on her collarbone. 

 

“The baby, my parents, oh God! Draco, stop!” She protested but she was doing nothing to escape his embrace. Her back was leaning against his chest and her legs were having a hard time holding her. His hand cupped one of her breasts and she let out a soft whimper. Hermione felt Draco’s arousal against her body. His hands now moved to her pants and after accomplishing what he wanted he turned her to face him. Before she had a chance to breath he took her mouth and performed magic with his lips. All trepidation left her and she took him by his neck, mimicking everything he was doing in her mouth. He let out a moan and took her in his arms, placing her on the bed.  Soon they were both naked. Their exploration of each other continued slowly, relishing every kiss, every touch until Hermione gasped as she felt Draco’s arousal against her skin. “Please,” she begged him. She was ready for him. He obliged; they were one once more and the world outside didn’t matter, at least for now.

 

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Hermione was nestled against Draco chest. The only source of light was the timid glow of the moon coming through the open window. “Are you still mad at me?” he whispered.

 

She lifted her head up while her wild hair tickled his chest. “Draco Malfoy you are an arrogant, insufferable bastard! My parents could come home any minute and I have a man in my bed who apparently always gets what he wants only because he doesn’t know the meaning of the word no. I should be raging mad but ... I am not anymore, that is, I was but not now.”  She was giddy, lightheaded, drunk with love.

 

“Amazing what a little sex can do,”  he said with a smirk. “By the way, you still talk too much."  She turned her back to him, drowning his face with her hair. 

 

He slid closer to her, his arm around her waist resting on her bare stomach. She took his hand in hers. “So about your parents,” said Draco, whispering in her ear. 

 

She stiffened a little. “What about my parents?” 

 

“Hermione, we are not going to play this game of answering a question with a question, are we?  You know what I mean,"  he said while he gently took her by the shoulder and made her face him. Those silver eyes dug deep into hers. 

 

She was distracted by his white/blonde hair simulating a million rays of light touching her face. She allowed her fingers to run through a few strands while she continued their conversation in a whisper, “Draco, I haven’t had the time to process all that has happened. First Ginny, then you come along, my Mum mad at both of you, my Dad giving me this cryptic message and you rushing me, us. Can we slow down?”  

 

She moved closer to him, close enough so that Draco could see trepidation in her big brown eyes. He was going to push just a bit more. “What are you afraid of, Hermione?”

 

She opened her mouth to answer when John Albus stirred and called softly for his mother. Covering her naked body with the blanket she tiptoed to his crib. She picked her son up and let him snuggle on her chest while she comforted him. Rocking her son to sleep she didn’t notice the blanket splitting up in two scarcely covering her chest and abdomen.  She turned to put John Albus in the crib while Draco admired the wonderful sight in front of him. It was more than obvious that his body was reacting to what he was observing.

 

“What are you doing! Cover yourself, Draco, honestly!” Hermione couldn’t help but fix her eyes below Draco’s lower belly. He could tell she was blushing from head to toe.

 

“No, the question is what are you doing Granger, seducing a poor ex convict like me,” he said with a big sneer on his face. “Care to continue our conversation?  I believe I asked you a question.”

 

They made love again and this time Draco remembered to put the Imperturbable charm on.

 


	14. <b>Chapter 14</b>

  
Author's notes:

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  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.**

 

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**Chapter 14:   Rediscovering  Friendship.**

 

 

Three days had passed and Harry had not shown up to either the Burrow or the store. Harry and Ginny had had rows before, little discords, which were resolved, most of the time, in a matter of hours or a day tops. This time, Molly Weasley had the impression it was much more than a mere disagreement. The matriarch of the Weasley household was sitting on the couch, pretending to knit while observing her daughter Ginny who had come for tea before heading back to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

 

 

The young woman was sitting lazily on one of the armchairs, her legs hanging on one side, a cup of tea on her hand. Molly observed that her mood had changed somewhat for the better since Harry came back from Romania and that was why Molly couldn’t understand the recent fight. Ginny was not moping around anymore. Instead she would fall into deep thought, her gaze somewhere far from home.

 

 

“What time are you going back to the store?” Molly asked. Ginny didn’t answer.

 

 

Molly placed her knitting on the couch and shortened the distance that separated her and her daughter and sat in front of Ginny. “Ginny?” Ginny stared at her mother. “Are you all right, dear?”

 

 

“I’m fine, Mum,” answered Ginny. Lifting her gaze to the clock she jumped out of the armchair. “Damn! My break is over. Mildred is going to kill me!” 

 

 

She gave a kiss to her mother and was about to Apparate when Molly said tenderly. “Ginny, you are miserable without him and I’m sure he is miserable without you.”

 

 

Ginny’s lips curved into a smile, and prepared herself to Apparate back to the store. “Don’t worry, Mum. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!”

 

 

Before the Pop sound Molly yelled. “And watch your language, Ginevra Weasley!”

 

 

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His parents' house never felt like home to him. James and Lily Potter had died there, protecting him, and the end result of such an act of love was that he became an orphan left in the care of those ignorant, selfish bastards named the Dursleys.  Did he blame his Dad and Mum for his fate?  His feelings were a mixture of so many things it was hard to distinguish them all. After Voldermort’s defeat Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was elevated to the status of not only the Boy Who Saved the Whole World (Muggles included) but also to The Most Powerful Wizard known to the Wizarding world. He despised what became of him after that stupid war. He despised this house.

 

 

Yet, here he was, at Godric’s Hollow, wallowing in self pity and uncontrollable rage. Ginny accused him of ... being a good for nothing, with no life of his own and on top of that she threatened him!  She was in the ranks of those who thought he should have finished school, become an Auror, enjoy his wealth and fame and live happily ever after with her and half a dozen kids when in reality all he desired after killing Voldermort was to forget and be forgotten.

 

 

How could he forget?  Hermione was back in their lives, stirring all kinds of memories and feelings. A hero, he was considered a hero. Tears were filling his eyes,  guilt and remorse engulfing him.  The sound of his sobs travelled through the empty house bouncing back at him. Heroes don’t stand by the side, they act. He fought Death Eaters, monsters and the ultimate evil, Voldermort, but he couldn’t stand up for one of the most loyal friends he would ever have. It was the worst mistake of his life and Ginny had no right to rob him of the opportunity to make amends for that mistake.

 

 

He sat, defeated. He crossed his arms on top on his knees, which were close to his chin.  Ginny... he loved her, he needed her, he wanted her in his life. Why then was he letting her slip through his hands?  

 

 

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“I wonder if the wards are still on."  Ginny was keeping her distance from the Grangers' home.  Another confrontation with Malfoy was not part of her agenda this beautiful Sunday afternoon.  She was standing on the sidewalk in front of Hermione’s house;  apparently Malfoy’s ward didn’t reach the sidewalk. How was she supposed to let Hermione know she was outside waiting?  _‘Well, I can Apparate, which will go famously with her parents, or I could tele... no phone her or ...'_ Her thoughts were interrupted by Hermione calling out to her.

 

 

She was standing on top of the steps.  “I will be out in a few minutes, Ginny, sorry but ...”

 

 

John Granger interrupted his daughter who couldn’t help but shrink a little expecting the worst only to be surprised by what her father said next. “Where are your manners, Hermione? Invite your friend inside.”  He was holding the door open while Hermione stared at him, hesitation and confusion written all over her face. “Well?”  he asked.

 

Hermione could see Ginny’s panicked expression. Her friend was afraid of her parents?  The thought amused her.  Hermione climbed down the stairs and approached her friend. “It's fine, Ginny, come in.”

 

 

“Hermione, remember Malfoy?  Wards?”  Ginny didn’t miss Hermione’s blush at the mention of a certain Slytherin.  

 

 

“Err, hmm, the wards are off,” said Hermione, avoiding Ginny’s gaze. “Come in, please.”

 

 

“Hermione, I better not.”  It wasn’t that she was afraid of Hermione’s parents but Ginny didn’t want to be the cause of discord between the Grangers and their daughter.  John Granger was waiting and his expression was pleasant enough. But what about Hermione's mum?  She reminded Ginny of a certain Mrs. Weasley.

 

 

“I promise, it’s going to be fine.” Hermione held her arm. With a grin in her face she added, “Don’t tell me you are afraid of dear old Mum and Dad?”

 

 

“Very funny!” Ginny exclaimed and prompted her friend to lead the way. 

 

Mr. Granger stepped outside so that Ginny and Hermione could go in first. The first thing Ginny noticed was the difference in temperature. Outside was rather hot whereas inside it was pleasantly cool.  Hermione’s home was small and much like the Burrow it was ‘lived in.'  Living room on the right and on the left the dinning room. The kitchen straight ahead, it had a door but on the side there was a big, wide opening, which Ginny thought allowed to pass food back and forth and maybe eat since she could see cups and a vase with flowers on top of the counter top.  Following the path to the kitchen but on the left there was a corridor leading to the bedrooms. John Albus's  toys were put away in a bright blue bin situated in the farthest corner of the living room. Ginny's gaze stopped at what she knew was a TV and her father came to mind.

 

 

Ginny stood by the entrance door. Hermione was beside her, biting her bottom lip and John Granger was examining Ginny thoroughly. Ginny held his gaze. He glanced at his daughter.  

 

 

“Dad, this is Ginevra Weasley, my friend from Hogwarts, remember her?  My second year at Hogwarts you and Mum met the Weasleys in Diagon Alley;  Mr. Weasley was very interested in Muggle money.  Ginny, my Dad, John Granger.” 

 

 

As she introduced them, Hermione was praying for Ginny to say very little so that they could make a quick exit. Her father was not her concern, Candice Granger had not been very receptive to Hermione’s willingness to welcome Ginny or Draco back in her life and just like Ginny, Candice spoke her mind at all times.

 

 

John Granger offered his right hand to Ginny who took it in with a strong grip holding John’s gaze. If this was a test, she was enjoying the challenge. “Pleasure to meet you again, Mr. Granger.”  Her tone was calm and cheerful.

 

 

“Please sit, Ginevra. I know Hermione wants to leave soon. While she gets John ready, you and I can get acquainted.” John glanced at his daughter who stood behind one of the armchairs, staring at the kitchen. “This outing must be special; she has been humming all day. It’s been ... years since I’ve heard my daughter sing to herself.”

 

 

“Really?” Ginny asked, thinking that Hermione never hummed in all their years at Hogwarts, not once. “I have been looking forward to this day too.”  Ginny thought Mr. Granger was nothing like Mrs. Granger;  he was more dangerous.

 

 

“I better go and get John Albus.  It's past four and it is a good twenty minutes walk to the fair,” said Hermione nervously. Her plans of avoiding Ginny meeting her Mum again were spoiled when she heard the back door open. John Albus ran towards her Mum and Candice soon appeared, her face unable to hide her displeasure as her eyes fell on Ginny.

 

John stood up and grabbed Candice by one of her elbows. “I believe you have met, Ginevra?” he said, ignoring his wife’s killing stare. 

 

 

“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Granger, and please call me Ginny.” Candice managed a nod. Ginny kept her hand to herself.

 

 

“Ginny it is. Tea? It's a bit early ...”  offered John.

 

 

“Dad, we'd better leave now... You know how it is at the fair,” interrupted Hermione while wrestling with her son, who was, once again, refusing to sit on the stroller.

 

 

John walked briskly towards Hermione, picked his grandson up and without much of a fight strapped him to his stroller. Grandpa was fun to be around but John Albus knew it was no use trying to get his way with him. 

 

 

“You three enjoy your outing,” said John and then he added as Hermione and Ginny made their way out the door. “Don’t come too late, dear. You sounded restless when we came home yesterday.”

 

 

  Hermione dropped her bag and her eyes were wide open. There was the slightest touch of pink on her face. She avoided her Dad’s gaze by gathering her personal things from the floor. Ginny on the other hand was facing both father and daughter since she had gone out first and was standing on the step. Ginny witnessed her friend’s worried look and the biting of her lip. 

 

 

“What do you mean?” Hermione finally asked, trying her best to sound casual as she continued manipulating the contents on her bag.

 

 

“We could hear you tossing and turning; you were even talking in your sleep,” John explained. If he knew something about Draco’s overnight stay Hermione couldn’t tell. _‘We forgot the window!’_ she thought nervously as her dad went on.  “Mum and I came home around midnight and went to the backyard to sit for a while, it was such a beautiful night! Your window was open. Anyway, I didn’t mean to nag like Mum. Go. We are going out too, we should get ready.”  

 

 

Hermione was on the pathway leading to the sidewalk. Ginny waved goodbye to Mr. Granger and ran to catch Hermione who was already turning the corner.

 

 

Hermione was deep in thought and walking as if she was late for class. Ginny was studying her friend’s features. 

 

“Hermione slow down!” exclaimed Ginny taking hold of the stroller.

 

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Hermione trying to smile without success. “I was ...”

 

 

“You have that look,” said Ginny glancing at Hermione suspiciously. “You know the one you used to get back in school around exams? That worried-the world is about to collapse if you didn’t get the highest marks-look?” Ginny didn’t mention Hermione’s cheeks went pink at the mention of her restless night.  

 

 

Hermione gave a Ginny a quick glance before turning to the task at hand, getting to the fair. She was not in the mood to answer any questions, not while she was trying to figure out whether or not her parents suspected something. Ginny decided  to enjoy the walk; after all it wasn’t every day that she had the chance to go to a Muggle fair or be this close to so many Muggles. She was excited. Her gaze turned to John Albus. Without a doubt, Hermione’s son was a Malfoy and a cute one!  John Albus was examining Ginny the same way he did his Dad. His silver/blue eyes darted back and forth between the baby dinosaur in his hand and the red -haired girl. His blonde hair was absolutely gorgeous, falling in waves on his shoulders. A few strands on his forehead. Small mouth and a tiny nose. Ginny contained herself; those rosy cheeks were ready for a good pinch.

 

 

Ginny turned her attention to the neighbourhood. Unlike Hermione’s street, trees could be seen everywhere. Cars were parked on one side of the street. Children were outside, playing games Ginny was not familiar with. Some were riding bicycles and some were sitting on the sidewalk playing cards. She could hear music coming from a few houses. She saw a few adults watering their front lawn, others working on their cars and others sitting on the steps enjoying the sun, watching passerbys.

 

 

Soon the sounds of the fair reached them. It was an amazing sight in Ginny’s opinion. The colours, the lights, the screams and laughter filled her heart with joy and Ginny became a child again. She tried and tasted everything, asking questions constantly about this or that. Whatever ride John wanted to go on it was Ginny who offered to go with him. Hermione couldn’t help but notice the ease with which Ginny interacted with her son. John Albus had fallen in love with her, his little hand on hers as she walked with him hand in hand for most of the afternoon.  Amazing! A pretty girl could accomplish more in a few hours than Mum could in months!   

 

 

The afternoon turned into evening, both friends exchanging memories of the years at Hogwarts, avoiding touchy subjects like Ron and the war. By eight thirty every ride, candy and game had been tried by Ginny and John Albus more times than Hermione cared to count. An exhausted John Albus was in Ginny's arms, his head on one of her shoulders, his fingers playing with her hair.  Not wanting the day to finish they stopped at a coffee shop, John Albus now strapped to his stroller and sound asleep.

 

 

“You are very good with children, you know,” Hermione said giving Ginny a grateful smile.

 

 

“Cannot wait for my niece or nephew to come,” Ginny said excitedly. Then, remembering that she hadn’t mentioned Fleur’s pregnancy she added,  “Fleur is expecting. Mum is about to burst. Poor Fleur can’t even go to the loo without Mum fussing about her!”

 

 

Hermione couldn’t help but feel nostalgic about Molly and The Burrow. The Weasleys were a big part in her life for many years. Molly Weasley so much like her own mother. She missed them and even though Ginny and she had picked up where they left off it was not the same.

 

 

Hermione observed that Ginny was staring at her, her eyes playful. “What?” Hermione asked.

 

 

“Care to explain what that was about back at your house?  Humming all day, you?”  Ginny asked mockingly. 

 

 

Hermione busied herself with John Albus’s bag,  avoiding Ginny’s gaze. “Why is it so difficult to believe that I actually like to sing?”

 

 

“Hermione, not once, not ever did you even whistle at Hogwarts. And you blushed, Hermione Granger, I saw it. Restless night? Talking in your sleep? Are you going to tell me or should I elaborate?”  Hermione’s expression confirmed Ginny’s suspicion.

 

 

Hermione told her about the events of the day before, her discomfort written all over her face. Ginny was looking at her friend in a new light. She had to laugh. “I can not picture you ... Merlin, Hermione! You breaking the rules, risking being caught ... Right under your parents’ nose!”

 

 

“I feel embarrassed enough, Ginny, no need to remind me of what I, we ... Oh God! Ginny, it's like I am this other person when he touches me ... when I am in his arms,” and as if she had just come to an unexpected conclusion she added, “I love him, Ginny, I love him,” she finished in a whisper, her eyes glistening.

 

 

Ginny held one of Hermione’s hands. “Hermione ... I may not like Malfoy, I don’t know if I ever will. I have a hard time wrapping my head around you two together and it has nothing to do with Ron. It's more about the history of both our families, you understand, don’t you?”  Hermione nodded so Ginny continued. “He loves you, Hermione, I saw it in his eyes. He makes you happy. I see it in your eyes too. I am so sorry, Hermione, we had no right ... I cannot help it, I feel so guilty!”  A lonely tear escaped down Ginny’s face. Hermione wiped it tenderly and wrapped Ginny in a tight embrace. Ginny’s quiet sobs continued for a while, while Hermione wondered whether there was more to Ginny’s tears. A tissue paper materialized in Ginny’s hands. 

 

 

“Sorry, Hermione.” Ginny wiped her face with both hands. “I didn’t mean to ruin the fun. Tears come easily lately.”

 

 

“You ruined nothing,” said Hermione giving Ginny a quick pat on her hand. “We'd better go. We both have to be up early.”  Ginny brushed her hair with her fingers and with a clip pull it up a pony tail. Hermione invited her to push the stroller with a smile on her face. “You need the practice to prepare for your niece or nephew.”

 

 

The fair was winding down. Ginny and Hermione were part of a caravan of tired patrons; the sounds of children’s laughter and music were replaced with those of quiet conversations and dragging feet. Few stars could be seen up above and the night breeze was warmer than days ago. Summer was around the corner.     

 

 

Ginny opened her mouth to speak but closed it. Hermione became aware of the hesitation in her friend’s features. Obviously Ginny had something in her mind.  

 

 

“Just say it, Ginny!” an irritated Hermione exclaimed.

 

 

Ginny sighed and with hesitation in her voice said, “Harry read the parchments you send them.”  

 

 

Hermione had a puzzled expression so Ginny went on. “You remember? The parchments you send to Ron and Harry? In the last one you sent Harry you told him about the baby and that you were leaving,” Ginny clarified.

 

 

Realization hit Hermione. “You mean ... they had never read them until now?!”  Rage overwhelmed her. 

 

 

Again, hesitation invaded Ginny. “Ron hid them. I found them unopened.” 

 

 

Hermione's rage was such that if Ron was in front in her no hex in the world would have been enough punishment. “That ... bastard ... son of a bitch coward sorry excuse of a man.  How dare he!  I can not believe his hatred would make him do something so beneath... but what am I saying?  He is beneath contempt!  He lied to his best friend to hurt me!  Bastard, bloody stupid bastard!

 

 

_‘Thank you very much, Ron! You should be the one listening to this,'_ thought Ginny.  

 

 

They had stopped their stroll. Hermione was pacing back and forth, arms wrapped around her chest which was heaving rapidly. “What about that boyfriend of yours? He reads them and what, nothing!  He is not here, he didn’t even bother to give me a two year too late answer and why the bloody hell are you the one who had the guts to face me and he...”  With a swift movement of her hand she wiped tears threatening to fall. 

 

 

“You made me promise, Hermione, remember? You don’t want anyone to know where you are, that I found you,” Ginny said in a reconciling tone.

 

 

“He knows you found me though, doesn’t he?” asked Hermione in a calmer tone.

 

“He does. He wanted to know where you were.” Ginny said thinking back to her row with Harry. A touch of sadness entered her face. Ginny and Hermione were walking again.  

 

 

“And how exactly did he react when you didn’t tell him? The Harry I remember wouldn’t take no for an answer even if it came from you. In fact he would take matters into his own hands unless he doesn’t want to talk me at all!”  Hermione thought she wasn’t ready to see Harry again but now she was starting to wonder. Now that she thought about it, Ginny had not mentioned Harry at all during her last two visits and those tears a few minutes ago were filled with too much emotion. Didn’t Ginny say tears came too easily for her now? Why? Hermione glanced over Ginny’s face.

 

 

“He is not the same Harry you remember,” Ginny said in a melancholic tone.

 

 

“Ginny, are you still together? You are still a couple?” Hermione asked.

 

 

“I guess we are.”  Ginny wasn’t sure how to respond;  after all she had not seen Harry for four days.

 

 

“You guess? What kind of an answer is that?”  Hermione’s mind was trying to decode the meaning behind Ginny’s responses. 

 

 

“It's fine, Hermione, no need to...” Ginny had slowed down her pace. The subject of Harry and her relationship with him was something she had avoided in actions and in her head.

 

 

Hermione cared for her friend and the thought of Harry and Ginny not being together concerned her. “So you two had a row, that much is obvious. So, what about and why didn’t you tell me?”

 

 

“I... don’t know. Hermione, it's fine. I told you, it is nothing.” Ginny was avoiding the subject.

 

 

“Was the fight because of me?” asked Hermione never stopping her close examination of Ginny’s reaction.

 

 

“When I told him not to try to contact you ... He wasn’t ... he started shouting and I did some of the same. I lost my temper, things got out of hand. We’ll figure it out,”  Ginny said, attempting to smile. 

 

 

They had reached their destination. There was light in the kitchen. Hermione sat on the second step in front of the house and motioned Ginny to sit beside her. John was sleeping and probably would through the night, thanks in part to Ginny who had kept him entertained the whole afternoon.

 

 

“Ginny, if Harry wants to contact me let it be. You gave me your word and you kept it. I don’t think I should be the reason you and Harry drift apart,” Hermione said. Then she added, “I’m not saying or promising anything. For all I know my friendship with Harry is beyond repair. I can tell you though, forget about Ron. Your brother has dug a deep, deep grave and I have no intention of digging him out of it.”  There wasn’t anger or sadness in her statement. It was the truth of what she felt and she felt absolutely nothing for Ron Weasley.

 

 

“If I see Harry, I’ll let him know,” responded Ginny with a heavy heart.

           

 

“It can not be just that, Ginny. Is it?”  Hermione couldn’t let Ginny go without attempting to help.

 

 

“He never finished school, doesn’t have a job, we don’t go out with friends, just by ourselves. His life is The Burrow, the store or time with Teddy. He is the shadow of what he once was.” Ginny blurted out, holding back the tears. She was hugging herself, rocking back and forth. A few strands of her hair slid from her pony tail to her face.

 

 

“He has gone through so much, Ginny. Maybe it's taking him longer than the rest of us to adjust.”  Hermione placed an arm around Ginny’s shoulders. “You love him, I know. This will pass.”

 

 

“Of course I love him! It's just ..."  Ginny let her shoulders drop a little. “All of a sudden I want more than being the eternal girlfriend, more than just doing inventory day in and day out. I did very well in my NEWTs, you know?”  For the first time Ginny sounded excited.

 

 

“Maybe to get out of this rot you need to take the first step. Didn’t you mention once you wanted to be a Healer?” 

 

 

“That was ages ago,” said Ginny.

 

"Honestly, Ginny, you are only nineteen years old!” Hermione scolded her. “Go and apply. Study hard, give it a try. If you are not happy with yourself, I doubt you can make anyone happy. Present company exempted.” Hermione smiled. “Maybe Harry needs a push, a hint. Have you told him about how you feel?”

 

 

“No, well, maybe, kind of ...” Ginny gave out a big sigh. “I blurted some stupid comments in the heat of our ... shouting match.” 

 

 

“Stupid comments?  Nothing stupid about wanting more out of your relationship and your life,” said Hermione, then she smiled and added, “the way you go about it might be the issue though.  Shouting and giving ultimatums to Harry is not going to work.”

 

 

Both girls were sitting with their elbows on their knees and their faces on their hands.  Hermione couldn’t help but think about her own situation. Her relationship with Draco needed more than the sexual attraction they both felt and, like Ginny, life as she knew it had to change. Trouble was, Hermione wasn’t sure about what those changes implied.

 

 

“Ginny, you need to talk to Harry and you may need to risk your relationship with him.” Hermione finished her statement by extending her arm across Ginny’s shoulders.

 

 

Ginny didn’t move. She kept looking into the distance while she said, “I’m afraid, Hermione. I may lose him. Why do you think I have a hard time speaking calmly about this to him? That year you were out hunting for Horcruxes was agony. Then the war happened and the deaths of... so many.  I should have been happy he made it out alive but I was so angry at Harry and I didn’t know why. And I loved him. I love him so much!  He was finally mine and I didn’t care in what shape he was in, all I cared about was that he was with me. After I went back to Hogwarts I thought he would follow me and finish school but he didn’t and slowly, little by little I noticed he was withdrawing more and more from... I don’t really know. I buried my frustration and disappointment and never said a word.”  Ginny’s face had a stream of tears flowing freely, some falling on the concrete steps. Hermione let Ginny’s head rest on her shoulder and kept quiet. Some of Ginny’s words resonated in Hermione’s  heart.

 

 

“And now he doesn’t understand why you said what you said and most likely he thinks you don’t love him and are tired of him,” reflected Hermione.

 

 

Ginny straighten herself and turned to look at Hermione. Her eyes were glistening, some of her hair was caressing both sides of her face and her face showed so much emotion Hermione understood why she missed and needed Ginny so much.  “But I love him!  How can he think I don’t?” Ginny exclaimed.

 

 

“Because he doesn’t love himself. He must be angry at his fate and can not see past the pain and the fear he lived with for so long. Because the weigh on his shoulders was so huge and heavy that now that he doesn’t have to carry it anymore he doesn’t know how to live without it. It's like loosing a limb. You body remembers it even though is not there, one feels it, yet it's gone. The thing is, one has to learn to live without it.  Harry needs to ... he needs you, Ginny. He needs you whole and fulfilled so that he has a point of reference,” answered Hermione.

 

 

“And if I lose him?”  Ginny asked anxiously. 

 

 

“Don’t you think he is just as afraid to lose you?” retorted Hermione and then she continued. “He is going to kick and scream, probably destroy a few pieces of furniture. His broom is going to be his best friend for a while and... he is going to remind you of John Albus. Remember when I didn’t let him run on his own, the little display he put on for us this afternoon?” 

 

 

Ginny wiped the tears from her face and gave Hermione a grin. Hermione continued.  “He is not going to give in as quickly as you wish but, I know how much he loves you and when he realizes he is behaving like a spoiled brat and that you are not going to give in and let life pass you by, just like John Albus he is going to get into that bloody stroller and tell you he is ready to go.” Hermione had the biggest grin and the brightest spark in her eyes as she finished.      

 

 

“Were you always this smart?” Ginny gave Hermione a grateful smile. For the first time in months she was able to voice out loud what she felt. Hermione could very well do the same for Harry if circumstances were different.

 

 

“I do hope you apply some of this wisdom to your life my friend. Don’t think I have nothing to say about this very exciting life you are leading, no magic, selling books.... Mind you, I kind of envy the passionate sex you are getting twice a night!”  Ginny said mockingly. 

 

 

Hermione was about to say something but decided to stick her tongue out at Ginny. The young women laughed out loud.

 

 

“It's late, I'd better go. Mum is probably sending a search party to look for me. Let me help you with the stroller," said Ginny.  Both held the stroller on each side and slowly made their way up the last two steps to the front door.

 

 

Before opening the door Hermione asked Ginny, “What are you going to tell your mother?”

 

 

“I will come up with something between here and the Burrow,” Ginny answered her.

 

 

Hermione was starting to feel remorseful. Ginny was lying and risking close relationships like the one with Harry and her family because of her. Her commitment to their friendship was unquestionable but it shouldn’t have such a high price. 

 

 

“Ginny, you don’t need to lie to your mum or anyone because of me. It's all right, you found me, we are friends again. Maybe you don’t want to tell them because of their feeling towards me, but if lying because of me comes between you and your family... It's up to you. I would rather you didn't tell them where I live but, anyway, you know what I mean.”

 

 

Ginny looked at her friend with admiration and respect and with a smile from ear to ear she hugged Hermione tightly. “You are the most generous, caring woman I have ever met. You tell Malfoy, if he makes one tear drop from your eyes, if he doesn’t make you smile every day of your life I will hunt him down and hex every part of his body one by one and then I will rip him to pieces!”

 

 

Hermione freed herself from Ginny’s arms and returned those heartfelt words with as big a smile as Ginny's. “Go home, you crazy woman, and don’t come back until you can show me those applications' parchments for St. Mungos.”

 

 

“Would it be all right if I use my owl?” Ginny saw the hesitation in Hermione’s face. “I promise he would be discreet.”

 

 

“All right. Good night, Ginny and thanks.”  Hermione gave Ginny a last hug and watched her until she became a little speck in the distance.

 

 

Her Dad and Mum were having their last cup of tea in the kitchen. They turned their heads when they heard the door open. She put her fingers on her lips pointing at John Albus sleeping in the stroller. 

 

 

Her Dad got up from his chair and went to meet his daughter. Candice Granger came behind him with a big frown on her face, not happy with her daughter’s renewed friendship with the Weasley girl.

 

 

John asked Hermione in a whisper, “How was your outing?”

 

 

With a big smile Hermione gave her Dad a hug and a kiss. “It was... wonderful Dad, absolutely wonderful.”  And with that she pushed the stroller towards her bedroom kissing her mother on her way.

 

 

“Did you see them?” asked John to his wife.

 

 

“See what?” an irritated Candice replied.

 

 

“Her eyes,” he responded softly.


	15. <b>Chapter 15.</b>

  
Author's notes:

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**

* * *

****Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.****

 

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.  Also, thanks to _EdwardGirl_ , _flatliner15_ and _TaMara_ for the taking the time to let me know what they think about my story so far.**

 

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**Chapter 15:  Mum’s Lesson.**

 

 Ginny let out a scream and a few choice words when she Apparated in her room.  There, in the darkness someone was sitting on her bed. After the first shock she realized who it was.  

 

“Gulpin’ gargoyles, Mum!  Are you trying to kill me?”

 

 Molly Weasley sat on her daughter’s bed, hands folded on her lap and her expression neutral. Not even a twitch, a slight jump as her daughter made her appearance. ' _How long had she been waiting?'_ asked Ginny internally. With a quick movement of her wand the room was illuminated by a soft light. The breeze coming through the window was warm. 

 

Ginny’s heart was beating at extreme speed inside her chest, while at the same time her head was configuring answers to what she knew was going to be an interrogation.  She reminded herself to keep her temper under control. The young woman sat beside her mother. Molly let out a gush of air from her mouth and in what seemed slow motion turned and gave Ginny a worried gaze.

 

In a very strained and concerned tone Molly said, “I have watched you for more than a month, Ginny.  Something is troubling you. And these disappearances of yours .… Mildred tells me you have left the shop a few afternoons ...”

 

Ginny was about to interrupt her mother but Molly ignored her and continued. “Yes, I have dropped by the store. George forgets he has parents sometimes. Honestly, you children think because you are all of age, married or moved out I should sit on that worn-out couch and wait for death to take me. Well ... I won’t. Ginny, I can't ignore you had a row with Harry and that long before that you had cried in this bedroom at nights thinking that you were not heard. Your father, as usual, has others ideas concerning our children and how to handle their troubles. I’m not him. I can’t ignore the tears, the times you sit outside wrapped in your own thoughts or this last row with Harry.”

 

With some apprehension Molly asked the next questions, “are you seeing someone else? Is that the reason why you don’t tell us where are you going? Did Harry find out?”

      

Ginny knelt down on the floor, in front of her mother. She took Molly’s hands and with a serious tone she answered, “Well, actually, today I went out with this cute blond man, with cheeks you just can’t resist and a bit of a temper, I may add. We spent hours in a Muggle fair and we held hands for most the afternoon and I must admit, I have fallen in love with him;  and, Mum, I hadn’t had so much fun in years!”

 

Ginny observed her Mum’s face. Molly was without words.  As her blue eyes explored her daughter’s gaze, she noticed something; Ginny was taunting her. “Ginevra, who is this man and why ...”

 

Ginny laughed quietly and interjected.  “His name is John Albus Malfoy-Granger and he is nineteen months old.”

 

Molly took a minute to put two and two together. Without warning, she stood up, which caused Ginny to lose her balance and fall. “You were with Hermione!” Looking down at her daughter who was trying to stand up and with a very annoyed glare she added, “Ginevra Weasley I should ... no, forget hexing you. I should spank you long and hard for making fun of your mother!”

 

Ginny managed to stand in front of her mother smiling; she gave her mother a kiss on her cheek. “Sorry, Mum, I couldn’t resist. It's true though, I was with Hermione and her son.”

 

Molly sat on the bed again and took one of Ginny’s hands, tugging it gently. Ginny sat beside her mother. Molly was lost in thought for a few minutes. Her next words were spoken with tenderness. “How is she, Ginny?”

 

“She is well, Mum,” answered Ginny.

 

“With a son, oh my, the poor dear ...” said Molly.

 

“She is not alone, Mum. She lives with her parents and is working at a Muggle bookshop. She and her son are loved very much.” Ginny was amazed at the compassion her mother felt for the woman who broke her youngest son's heart.

 

“So she was pregnant with Draco’s son when she disappeared. Cute, you said.” Molly was already warming up to a little boy she had never met.  

 

“Mum? He is Malfoy’s son. Doesn’t it bother you?” Ginny asked, not believing her Mum could be this understanding.

 

“What does he know, Ginny? You never read Hermione’s testimony at Draco’s trial, did you?” asked Molly.

 

Ginny shook her head. It never occurred to her to read it and again, her mother surprised her. “Well, I did. Your father was there that day. I wasn’t aware of it until Arthur told me days later. Ron is my son, I’ve not forgotten it. Hermione isn’t an ordinary person, Ginny; I can’t forget that either.”

 

She paused and then continued. “Hermione was very eloquent; she has always been very articulate.” Molly spoke with a touch of nostalgia. “Not once did she defend or justify the Malfoys' actions, not even Draco’s.  She spoke of the war and the reasons she fought alongside Harry and one of the reasons she gave …”  

 

Molly’s eyes were watering. “She said we fought not only for the enemies of Voldermort but for his followers and their descendants, so that they could live in the freedom we, who were on the side of the light, enjoy. Hermione wanted a wizarding world where, after Voldermort’s defeat, no more were there **us** or **them.** And a wizarding world where she could be free to love whomever she wished, no matter their past. She described a Draco we knew nothing about. You know, it never occurred to me that acknowledging publicly what they felt for each other might be an act of bravery from Draco ... The way she spoke about their love ... that child is the reason Fred and so many others died, Ginny, and he is the son of the woman who risked life and limb for my son and Harry, many, many times. John Albus ... she named him after the most loved and respected wizard I have ever known. Even after all she had to endure, she didn’t forget. Ron would never find anyone like her and you are lucky to have Hermione Granger as your friend.”

 

Ginny once more knelt down in front of her mother and cried on her mother’s lap. Learning about Hermione’s testimony moved her deeply. Molly looked down at Ginny, one hand brushing her hair while the other lifted Ginny’s chin. With both hands she wiped her daughter’s face and looked deep into her eyes, reassuring her she meant every word she uttered. “I would love to have Hermione and John Albus over for some tea. Do you think it’s possible?”

 

“That might be a problem, Mum,” said Ginny.

 

“A problem? Why?” asked Molly.

 

Ginny sighed. “She has sworn off magic altogether and the wizarding world. We hurt her deeply; her trust is gone. We let Ron humiliate her enough times that I guess she feels she doesn’t belong with us any more. And, ah ... hmm ... Draco is, no, Draco and Hermione have just reunited. It's a bit complicated, Mum, and I don’t have all the facts.”

 

Molly let her fingers continue brushing Ginny’s hair while she pondered Ginny’s words. A few minutes after she said, “So they are together. Your father refused to believe he was dead, you know, something about the house-elves made him wonder. It doesn’t matter. This family owes her and her son an apology.  Maybe you can deliver a parchment to her. You think she’d mind?”

 

“I don’t think so.  I’m not to disclose where she is, that’s all. I’m supposed to write to her soon anyway. She hesitated a bit about me using my owl. We’ll send the parchments together.”  Ginny yawned, extending both her arms.

 

Molly kissed her daughter’s head. “Go to bed, dear. We can talk tomorrow before you go to the shop. I would love to know more about her new life and the baby, if it’s okay?”

 

“Sure. I love you, Mum,” said Ginny plopping face down into her bed, too tired to get undressed. In minutes she was asleep.


	16. <b>Chapter 16</b>

  
Author's notes:

**  
**

* * *

  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

 

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.**

 

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**Chapter 16:   Fun,  Slytherin Style.**

 

 

“Ready?” Hermione asked her reflection in the life size mirror, while cradling John Albus on her right hip. She was meeting Draco for lunch. Her skin tingled just thinking about him. Frowning, she remembered he didn’t leave her house in the best of moods after she turned down his invitation to spend Sunday together.  Her renewed friendship with Ginny was going to be a problem at home and definitely with Draco. Of course she wanted to be with him! Being with Draco was all she could think about but everything was going so fast she needed some space to think and Draco wasn’t a patient man. The attraction they felt for each other was nothing she had experienced until Draco kissed her the first time. Before and during the trial, their rows lasted, well, not long. Draco knew how to win every argument or at least achieve a draw. His weapon of choice: his mouth and his hands. As soon as his hands or his lips touched her ... all rational thought eluded her. He used it to his advantage, to get his way, because Draco Malfoy wasn’t used to losing at anything. Maybe she should remind him of the many times her house won the Quidditch cup. She grinned.

 

She had no doubts about their love for each other, and that  three years ago circumstances beyond their control shaped their relationship. This resulted in getting to now each other while in the intimacy of his bedroom but not out in the world. It wasn’t that they didn’t talk about all sorts of subjects. They fought and made up and talked some more but the fact that they didn’t know what the future held for them, their fears, Ron and his thirst for revenge, and then her pregnancy,  left little room for anything but the here and now.  

 

Three years ago Draco was fighting not only charges against him but the fact that they had fallen in love. The changes his feelings for her inflicted on Draco didn’t come about without struggle, and in the end, without having to compromise her principles, Draco gave her what she needed: his heart and his willingness to change. 

 

That was then. Now Hermione was fighting her own demons. The most important one, the apprehension she developed about using magic and the fear of going back to the wizarding world. She couldn’t explain it, which drove her crazy, nor did she know how to confront it. John touched her necklace, bringing her back to her plans.

 

She curved her lips into a mischievous smile. If Draco was going to sulk, as she knew he most likely would, she was going to give him a taste of his own medicine. Gryffindors were known for their courage and determination in the worst of circumstances. All business, no play, as the saying goes in the Muggle world. Slytherins were different. Not that they were cowards, no. They were cunning and manipulative, managing to have some fun too. Saturday at the park, it dawned on her:  _‘I am in love with a Slytherin.  No reason why I shouldn’t apply some of what they have practiced for centuries.'_

 

She made a three hundred sixty degree turn in front of the mirror. “What do you think, John?” John laughed. “Nothing?” John was trying to wriggle his way down. The mirror game was fun for maybe half a minute. “You are right. I’d better go, but I’m gonna miss you!”  She kissed him repeatedly all over his face as she made her way out the door while their laughter travelled throughout the house.

 

Candice was leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking her tea. Sunlight was coming through the window warming her back. She was always the first one up.  John’s and Hermione’s lunches were prepared and John Albus’s  breakfast was ready.  A tender smile washed over her face as Hermione’s laughter reached her. Hermione came running after John Albus, both mother and son giggling.

 

“Morning, Mum.” Hermione greeted her mother with a big smile and a kiss while at the same time placing John Albus on his highchair. “Daddy left already?” she asked moving from the counter with her son’s bowl in one hand while in the other she held her packed lunch. 

 

“No, he ...”  As Hermione turned to pick a spoon from one of the drawers Candice’s disapproving glare travelled through Hermione’s body.  “Hermione ... since when do you go to work wearing ... well ... isn’t that a bit revealing at the top?” a bewildered Candice asked. 

 

Hermione was wearing a sleeveless sun dress hanging from her shoulders with the help of thin straps. It was light purple with small white flowers, with a low cut enhancing her bosom but avoiding revealing too much. Its length reached down to the middle of her thighs. She chose a necklace long enough that one’s gaze had no choice but to stop right at the fabric concealing the beginning of her breasts. Her sandals had the smallest of heals. She had braided her hair but only on the sides bringing them to the back in a pony tail. Not one to use make-up she settled for a little bit of eye shadow and lip gloss.  

 

As she was about to protest to her mother’s comments,  John Granger came in.  One look at mother and daughter was all he needed to put the mediator hat on. Hermione rose and gave her Dad a kiss on the cheek and, opening the fridge, she placed her lunch on the top shelf. All the junk they ate at the fair didn’t sit well with her stomach. Tea would suffice. She took an apple, which she planned to eat after ordering soup from Mrs. Murphy’s take out restaurant, and sat down in front of her son, too involved with her morning routine to notice the glance shared between her parents.

 

“I am ready, Daddy,” she said baffled by her Dad’s facial expression as she glanced at him. Was he going to object too? She had tried her best not to reveal too much or maybe her mum was right.

 

“I’d say! You look ... very pretty. Nah! You look beautiful!” he said beaming at his daughter.

 

“You are joking!” Candice almost screamed, pointing at Hermione’s attire.  “Since when do you dress ... what I’ m saying is, you’re working in a bookshop, Hermione!”

 

John winked at Hermione. He placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “She is twenty one years old not an old maid. Have you seen what some of the girls are wearing now? Our daughter is a young, vibrant, beautiful woman and it’s about time she let the world know it.” With his gaze he appealed to his wife to let him handle this. Candice softened her features. John touched her lips with his and without warning deepened the kiss. Hermione laughed quietly as her mother hit her husband in the chest, embarrassed.

 

“If you want a ride, Hermione, we’d better leave now,” he said and not one to miss anything, he asked her, “No lunch today?”

 

“I think I’ll have some soup from Mrs. Murphy’s place. I woke up with an upset stomach. I overdid it at the fair.”  She gave her mum a kiss. “See you later, Mum,” and another one to her son, “bye, darling.” She walked out, leaving Candice to her own thoughts.

 

During the ride to work John forgot about Hermione’s choice of work clothes. Instead he inquired about Mr. Lynch and the shop, more details about the afternoon spent at the fair the day before and the possibility of Hermione meeting Ginny again. His scepticism regarding Miss Weasley was eroding slowly as he witnessed Hermione’s behaviour for the past days. Hermione was more cheerful and excited about life. Ginny held her ground and was not intimidated easily. He liked that. Hermione needed a friend, one who knew about the world she was part of for the most important years of her life. Maybe it wasn’t so bad Hermione gave her another chance.

 

There were issues more important for John than a revealing choice of clothing, such as his grandson’s father and Hermione’s plans for the future, now that Mr. Malfoy was in their life. If Hermione felt more at ease talking to him about her friend it would do for now. John Granger was a patient man and above all, a loving father. Her happiness was all that mattered and Hermione laughed this morning for the first time in years;  she said she had a wonderful time with such joy in her eyes he had to restrain himself not to asphyxiate her in tight hug. He wasn’t afraid of losing Hermione. He had lost her two years ago. It appeared Hermione Granger was coming back and if letting her go meant she would be whole again, then he would help her put the pieces together.

 

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Weekdays’ mornings were not as busy as the rest of the day. Most of her  morning visitors  -and she considered them as such because they never bought a thing-  were neighbours, noisy old ladies and a few children on their way to school. Hermione had befriended most of those working or living around the store. Being more attractive and agreeable than Mr. Lynch had helped. 

 

Today the old ladies from St. Aidan’s Anglican church had made a point to stop one at the time on their way to their weekly meeting. Apparently her not so conservative attire needed to be appraised and talked about, while pretending not to really be talking about it. Hermione rolled her eyes once more as Mrs. Travis came into the store. She didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence and kept behind the counter, taking notes on the new shipment of children’s literature which arrived a few minutes ago.

 

“Miss Granger, I must say it’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” Mrs. Travis was heaving, as if she had been running. Hermione had no doubt her last visitor, Mrs. Shields, had let Mrs. Travis know there was something new at the store which needed a closer look.  

 

Without even asking she dropped on the chair behind the counter and gave Hermione a thorough examination. “You look different today, dear. Is it your hair?”  Mrs. Travis waited for an answer. Hermione attempted to smile and continued with what she was doing. The less said the better.

 

“You know, my nephew Roger is back from America."  The old lady waited for a reaction. Nothing. “He inquired about you; I think he is stopping by later. He’ll be surprised what motherhood has done for you. Wait till I tell him how you have ... filled ... I mean one only needs to look at you ... your hips, your bos …”  Pretending she just found the answer to her previous question she exclaimed, “That’s it. Your dress! It’s ... ahem ... certainly ... you know ... it suits you.”  

 

Mrs. Travis, having accomplished her task of appraising Hermione’s new look, groaned and complained while rising from the chair. “Meeting is about to start, better go. I’ll let Roger know today is a good day to take you out to lunch. You certainly are dressed for it. Maybe dinner at Marcus’ place.  You two figure it out.”

 

Hermione lifted her head, a bit of alarm in her voice. “Mrs. Travis, I’m afraid today ...”

 

“Don’t worry, he knows you only have an hour. Like I said maybe a dinner date is better. Nice to see you again, dear.” With that the bell rang again as Mrs. Travis left the store ignoring Hermione’s words coming from the back of the store.

 

“Don’t these people have better things to do!” Hermione was looking up, arms in the air, shouting. “It’s a bloody dress not a neon sign saying I’m available! God! Merlin! Whoever!”  She huffed and puffed as she went about putting the new order of books in the shelves, talking to herself.   "All that is missing is Thomas and his raging hormones barging in!”

 

Thomas was Mr. Lynch’s nephew.  Seventeen years old and with a big crush on Hermione. He didn’t stop by often but if her morning was any indication of the kind of day that awaited her, chances were pretty good he and his friends would stop by. Why not?  Everyone else had!

 

 ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ 

 

The man talking to Hermione was certainly having a good time. Muggle, no doubt. Drooling all over himself, and who could blame him? Hermione was wearing almost nothing and she was standing on top of a ladder giving the stranger the reason for that stupid grin on his face. Draco took a closer look through the glass. A boy was sitting on top of the counter and two more of what seemed to be his friends were standing on the side, right in front of the ladder joining in what must be a very pleasant treat to the eyes.

 

A very annoyed Draco went in. She saw him through the corner of her eye but chose to ignore him.  _‘Great! Of course he had to come earlier._ She finished placing the last book on the top shelf and proceeded to descend only to have Roger step in and help her down by taking her by the waist, allowing her to slide to the floor rubbing most of her chest against his. That did it. Draco went for his wand. Hermione ran and stepped in front of him, holding his arm with all the strength she could muster.

 

“Draco, please,” she pleaded in a whisper. “They are leaving and so are we.”  His rage was something she hadn’t seen in years, not since the trial. His arm was wrestling with her hand, pulling and pushing to break free. She searched for his eyes, forcing him to look into hers. No sooner had those silver eyes gazed into hers that his arm went limp and she smiled at him hesitantly. 

 

She turned around never letting his hand off of hers. “I’m afraid my ... date has arrived. Remember, I have only an hour to eat my lunch, boys. Thomas and you two, better go. Roger, thanks for your help. Say hello to your aunt for me.”

 

“See you soon, Hermione and nice to meet you ...”  Roger offered his hand to Draco and immediately retrieved it. Those eyes were sending a very clear message and he got it. “Right, enjoy your lunch.”

 

Neither one them said anything on their way to the little park situated around the corner. Draco held Hermione’s hand loosely, as if he wasn’t interested. Men, Muggles or wizards, looking at Hermione that way made him feel like plucking their eyes out. Hermione took his arm with both her hands and leaned against him.  

 

He sneaked a glance at Hermione. “That’s a nice necklace you’re wearing.” It didn’t sound like a compliment as much as an admonishment. He was not pleased. Hermione chose not to answer, happy he was reacting as she expected him to. 

 

 “I need to stop at Mrs. Murphy’s to pick up my soup. You want anything?” she asked. Draco said nothing and once again Hermione ignored him and went in.  Draco leaned against a post and watched as Hermione walked in. A couple of male passers-by turned their heads as the young woman made her way into the store; one of them even managed a soft whistle of approval. Draco was fuming.

 

Once inside Mrs. Murphy welcomed Hermione with a big grin. “Hello, Hermione, Clarence has your order at the back.” She turned and yelled through the counter behind her, stealing a peak at Hermione deciding to keep her thoughts to herself. “Clarence, Hermione is here!” 

 

Clarence came out wearing a big smile and a bag on his hand. With his dark black hair, green eyes and a permanent tan he was a nice treat to the eyes. Aside from his good looks Clarence was known for his frankness and big heart, two qualities Linda, his wife, claimed won her heart two years ago. “So this is what dear old Mrs. Murdoch was rambling about. Although the way she described it I was expecting much more, actually I mean, much less, but this will do.”

 

“Clarence!” his mother scolded him. For the first time in the whole morning Hermione’s face went pink.

          

“So who is he?” asked Clarence while giving Hermione a thorough three hundred and sixty degree examination, a detail that didn’t go unnoticed to a certain blond man stationed outside.

 

“He?” Hermione asked pretending not to understand the question. Avoiding any eye contact she lowered her head and opened her bag looking for some money to pay for lunch.

 

“Enough, Clarence! I’m sure she had had more than enough of this nonsense the whole morning. Those noisy chatterboxes prying into everyone’s business! Don’t mind him, Hermione. Here is your change.” Mrs. Murphy gave the young woman an understanding smile.

 

“All I’m saying is that when a woman starts changing her hair and the way she dresses, trust me, it has to do with a man. I should know, that’s how Linda got me.  That and well ... a few other tricks I’d better keep to myself, don’t want to give you any ideas.” The pink colour in Hermione’s face came back.  

 

“I’d better get going. Thanks again, Mrs. Murphy. See you around, Clarence. Say hello to Linda for me.” Hermione turned but Clarence’s hand took her by the elbow.

 

“Just be careful.  Linda and I are really fond of you, kind of the little sister neither one of us had.” He then added, “You look beautiful by the way.” He kissed her forehead. Hermione’s eyes glistened. All she wanted was to have some fun today, teach Draco a lesson, and she ended up learning that she was a desirable and attractive woman, something she always wrestled with. But most importantly, she had come to the realization that she had forged friendships in the Muggle world and for the first time since she left magic and its world behind, she felt like she belonged with Clarence and Mrs. Murphy, the ladies from St. Aidan, Mr. Lynch and so many others! Little gestures like a wave, a nod acknowledging her as she walked by.  Mrs. Murdoch stopping by with a treat for John Albus and her parents.  Horace, the owner of the magazine stand keeping a copy of the newspaper for her so she had something extra to read on her way home. The bus drivers, they all knew her by now, and Mrs. Murphy, much like Mrs. Weasley, was only too pleased to feed her every time she had a chance. Maybe it wasn’t so bad working in a little bookshop in Muggle London, having her parents close by and good people around her. Now that Ginny and Draco were part of her life, did she need anything more?

 

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Draco watched the exchange inside the eatery not sure what to make of it. Something happened in the take out place. Hermione held his hand as they made their way to the small park and remained quiet and pensive. The shine in her eyes were unshed tears, he had no doubt about it.

 

A dozen steps and they arrived at the park. It wasn’t really a park, not in the true sense of the word. When the old movie theatre was slated to be demolished the Merchants Association bought the land and converted the empty lot into a place where customers and neighbours alike could rest. The massive walls surrounding the park were painted with murals created by local artists. Some small shrubs around the walls and half a dozen trees plus a few concrete tables with benches around them and a little piece of paradise was born.

 

They sat at the only table available, right by the sidewalk. She busied herself with the contents of her lunch while Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest as if waiting for an answer. He had spent most of his Sunday flying with the hope of releasing some of his anger at having to spend his day off alone because of the Weasel girl. It helped. Having supper with Nick and his family wasn’t bad either, it was a welcome distraction. What would Hermione say if she knew he spent a good part of his evening learning to play football with four attractive Muggle girls?   Now, after witnessing men falling over backwards at the sight of a very sensual looking Hermione and her doing nothing about it, his anger was back.

 

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Hermione asked him giving him an innocent look. “I asked Mrs. Murphy to give us an extra bowl and drink. I hope you don’t mind soup. I know it’s warmer today but I woke up with an upset stomach.”

 

She got up and kneeled on the bench where she was sitting and bent over exposing more of her chest as she placed the extra bowl, spoon and drink in front of him. Draco leaned backwards and swallowed hard. Hermione gave him a smile and started eating. In a few minutes she had finished her lunch while his was untouched. Now she was sitting on the table, one leg crossed on top of the other.  The bottom of her dress had retreated to at least three quarters up her thighs teasing passers-by. She took a small bite from her apple. She was enjoying herself and he felt like ... In one step he was standing in front of her.

 

“Having fun today, aren’t you? Had fun yesterday?” His eyes gave the impression of a stormy sea.

 

“Fun? I had to empty three huge boxes with two hundred and fifty books,  make sure it was the right amount and order and then place them in their respective shelves while at the same time looking after customers and tending the phones. No, it’s not fun. And yes, yesterday Ginny, John Albus and I had a blast.” And without taking her eyes off of his, she defiantly took another small bite from her apple.

 

“You had a lot of help today; it couldn’t have been that tiresome.”  He was waiting for his opportunity to come. He would claim those lips right in front of everybody and it was just a matter of time.

 

“Roger and the boys came by ten minutes before you did. Too late to lend a hand.” She sensed a kiss was coming and bit into her apple.  _‘Got ya!’_ she thought grinning.

 

She had no choice but to swallow her apple. Draco took her mouth, apple and all. Both of his hands held her arms tightly. Oh she was mad! He could feel it. The duel continued and he was losing. One of her knees made contact with his stomach forcing him to let go off of her arms. By the time he regained his breath and composure she was out of his sight.

 

Hermione was walking in big strides. A hand in her arm tried to stop her but she pulled away from it. “We need to talk,” he said keeping up with her. They reached the shop.

 

“You, you are ... I’m not having any conversation with you!” she said gritting her teeth. She unlocked the door of the shop and made her way to the back but he blocked her path immobilising her with a tight grip of one of her arms.

 

“What, all of a sudden you are mad at me because I kissed you? That’s a first.”  His eyes were covered by a few strands of hair. If she wasn’t so mad at him she would have loved using her fingers to brush his hair away from his face. She loved looking into those stormy eyes of his.

 

She was breathing fast and her stomach was acting up again. “That’s just it. You don’t care where we are or who is watching. I almost choked! You know what your ... ” She was going to say kisses but stopped, she wasn’t about to admit to any weaknesses, especially the intimate ones. “Every time we are having a discussion we end up ...”

 

He didn’t let her finish. “We end up in bed, that’s what you are saying? Well, I don’t see a bed around here and I definitely need to talk to you and we are going to have this conversation so help me! I’m not leaving and you can’t make me. Remember? I have a wand.” With a wicked grin in his face he pointed his wand at the front door and closed it placing the Closed sign on it and with another quick move he lowered the shutters. Lights were on and his wand was back in its holster inside his shirt.

 

Whatever was going through her mind, he couldn’t tell. To make sure she wasn’t planning any surprises he kept his grip on both her arms and pressed his body against her so she couldn’t kick him again. “I have decided that I would like to meet your parents Friday afternoon, right after we come back from our trip to Hogsmeade.”

 

This time he could tell without a doubt what was going through her mind. Her eyes and mouth were open wide. She tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come out. If she had a wand Merlin only knew what hex she would inflict on him; something which would produce extreme pain and take months of treatment at St. Mungos, no doubt about that! Her lips were closed tightly now and her eyes were  glaring at him changing their expression from rage, to anger, to confusion, to frustration and deep down in those brown eyes Draco saw what she had tried to hide every time he mentioned magic or anything related to it: fear and panic. It would take more than a few kisses to make peace with the love of his life but he had plans for that too.

 

“Glad you agree. I figured being Monday you have enough time to let Mr. Lynch know you need a day off due to family business; I’m sure he’ll be fine. You seem to have the male population around this block willing to do almost anything for you anyway.” He continued never losing the grip on her arms, “It also gives you plenty of time to tell your parents. I wish we could take John Albus but there’ll be more than enough opportunities to go together as a family. This trip is just for us. We never had a proper date in the past nor have we had one since we got together. We are a couple and we need to have a date, more than one actually.  See?  Sex hasn’t even been an issue today.” It wasn’t true. The sex part, that is. It had taken all of his will power not to ravish her now that they were alone. That blasted dress would be so easy to get rid off!  

 

Having finished with what he had to say for the time being, Draco wasn’t sure if he should release her. Not having a wand didn’t mean she couldn’t still hurt him.  She was the proud owner of a very powerful right hand. A broken nose during his third year at Hogwarts was the result of a certain Gryffindor’s hand colliding with his face and she was standing right in front of him.

 

He stepped back and took his wand from its holster. Her chest was going up and down in rapid movements and some of her colour had drained from her face.

 

She opened her mouth to let a big gush of air escape her lungs and then with all her penned up anger she cried, “You decided, YOU DECIDED! You, Draco Malfoy, need to learn that your wishes are not your commands. You are not telling me what or when to do anything and I’m not going anywhere with you!”  

 

“That remains to be seen. But just for the sake of argument, when exactly do you plan to inform your parents that you and I are a couple? That I’m not planning on disappearing or avoiding my responsibilities as a father?” Her answers were not forthcoming. 

 

His questioning continued. “Do I need to hide behind trees and shrubs to see my son? Are we sneaking around so we can be together? Any thoughts about our future? Don’t you want the three of us to be together? Don’t you want to go back?”

 

Anger was replaced by confusion and the fear she was trying, without success, to conceal. Her arms were crossed against her chest in a tight embrace and she was avoiding his gaze. For some reason she appeared to him small and fragile.

 

Draco came closer and took her chin. With one of his fingers he lifted her face placing his other hand on her lower back. “Whatever happened to the Gryffindor courage?”

 

“I am no longer at Hogwarts and this is my world, the real world.” This time she held his gaze and some anger slipped through her words.

 

“You being a witch is real. Those years at Hogwarts are real. The final battle.  Your injuries. The dead. We hated each other there and we fell in love there. It was as real then as it is now.” There was no space between them. Draco was so close she could see every line of grey and blue in that amazing iris of his.

 

“Don’t you miss it?” There was longing in his voice as he asked the question.    

 

Yes, in spite of everything, she did miss it. What she experienced and what she learned about herself would always be with her. She had made friends. Friends she was willing to die for and almost did. She met Harry and Ginny and so many others! How could she forget all that they all went through! Bloody hell, she faced and overcame obstacles no adult wizard in her time could imagine! She fought Death Eaters! She spent a whole year in the wilderness looking for Horcruxes! She fought in the final battle at Hogwarts where so many dear friends died. It was true, none of it would had been possible without her being a witch or her attendance at Hogwarts. But the dread and anguish she felt at the thought of going back and reliving the most painful months of her life was also true and it had such a hold on her no reasonable explanation would make it go away. Guilt crept in. Draco had left behind a world he was part of to follow her. Could she expect him to forget all that and live as a Muggle for the rest of his life? What about John Albus?  

 

All the doubts and fears overwhelmed her and everything spun around her. She had to lean on Draco resting her head against his chest and holding him around his waist. He held her tight. “Whatever you’re afraid of can’t be as powerful as what we have together. Don’t you think?”

 

She lifted her head. “I know but ... you are going so fast I can not think things through properly.”

 

“What is there to think about?” He held her by her shoulders displaying a bit of frustration in his voice. “Must you think about everything in triplicate? It’s a walk through Hogsmeade and meeting your parents. What can you possibly find objectionable about that?”

 

“Well ... Draco ... I can’t ... It’s …” Hermione could see his anger rising again.

 

He released her, moving his arms by his side. “Fine. If you love me, you trust me, and you’re not ashamed of me then you’ll have no problems whatsoever of going out Friday and dropping by your parents afterwards. If none of the above is true then ...”

 

He waited for an answer. The most endearing of her gestures appeared. She was biting her bottom lip. “I see,” he said disappointed. 

 

He pushed her gently aside and made his way to the exit. As he opened the door he turned around and without showing any emotion he said, “I know where you stand now. I do need and want to see my son as often as possible and without restrictions, with or without yours or your parents’ approval. I will come by your house and pick him up at around two in the afternoon tomorrow and he’d better be ready.”  

 

The door closed behind him. The most wicked of all smiles exploded in his face. He did say he was going to be relentless and merciless if he was going to help her with her fears. If she ever found out it was all an act, killing him would not be enough to satisfy her.

 

Back in the store Hermione was a wreck. She was losing Draco to ... she couldn’t even name it but the part of her brain which relied on logic and pragmatism told her it was all in her head and that Draco was right and she was wrong.  _‘Oh God! Merlin, please ... tell me what to do!’_

        

She ran out of the shop. Draco was about to turn the corner when she saw him. “Draco!” she yelled but it seemed he didn’t listen.  She ran faster.

 

“Draco!” Her voice was music to his ears. He turned around. She was breathing so fast her necklace was swinging like a pendulum, her braided hair was hanging at both sides of her face, which was flushed as a result of her run and the heat. A pang of guilt reached his heart.  _‘Just a little bit more, my love, and I will be able to hold you and kiss all those fears away.'_

 

Hermione stood there panting. She was hyperventilating, her stomach was doing summersaults and she thought she was about to faint. Gasping for air between words she said, “How about ... I meet you … at King’s Cross ... around ... hmm ... eleven?”

 

He was taking too long to answer. A playful glint lit her eyes and she approached him wrapping her arms around his neck. She took his mouth not caring where they were or who was watching. Her tongue became a weapon he had no defence against so he surrendered taking great pleasure in exploring once more every centimetre of her mouth, a task she was emulating with absolute perfection. Lack of air forced them to unlock their lips.

“Didn’t you accuse me of having no consideration for others, of having no shame and you dare kiss me like ... wow!” he exclaimed. 

 

“I assume that is a yes?” she asked sensually. “King’s Cross at eleven?”

 

He nodded and she embraced him. He was caressing her back and then he asked her, “Are you sure?”

 

“No, but you are with me. It’s all I need.” His only answer was to kiss her, neighbours and noisy old ladies be damned.

 


	17. <b>Chapter 17</b>

  
Author's notes:

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  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

 

 

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.**

 

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**Chapter 17: Taking The Bull By The Horns.**

 

 

Arthur Weasley let his lips curve into a smile as Ginny came downstairs the next morning jumping two steps down at a time, her long hair floating behind her waving at him in happiness as she went into the kitchen. Yes, his daughter exuded something pretty close to being happy and how was that possible if apparently there has been a big row between Harry and her? Molly couldn’t help herself and woke him up in the middle of his slumber to tell him all about her conversation with Ginny the night before. Was Hermione the reason for this wonderful sight in front of him?  

 

“Morning, Daddy.” The young Weasley came out of  the kitchen and greeted her Dad with a noisy kiss on his cheek while pulling the chair with her free hand. 

 

“Sure you have enough, dear?” he asked her while his gaze examined the mound of eggs and bacon on her plate.

 

“I didn’t eat at all yesterday, mostly junk.” She stopped to swallow and then continued. “You know, having a good night’s sleep isn’t so bad either because I woke up famished.”

 

Molly came into the dining room with a glowing face, her eyes directing her husband to their daughter. His wife measured happiness in her children’s lives by the amount of food they ingested. Arthur patted his wife’s hand as she sat beside him placing his second cup of tea in front of him.

 

“So, what kind of ‘junk’ do Muggles eat at a fair?” asked Arthur. Ginny was about to have another mouthful of eggs when she stopped her fork from entering her mouth in mid air. Arthur patted her hand. “Your mother and I tell each other everything, dear. I wished I could have been informed of the good news at a decent hour but ...”  he looked at Molly and gave Ginny a reassuring smile.

 

Ginny was in awe of her parents. What had happened? Were they always this understanding? Was she dreaming? Maybe she was because looking down at her plate she couldn’t believe she had actually eaten the whole thing! First Hermione’s willingness to allow Ginny to tell her family about her, then her mother’s compassion and contrition towards Hermione and now her father asking about her day with Hermione as if nothing had ever happened. The weigh on her shoulders was gone; she didn’t have to lie anymore. It was such a relief!  

 

And so Ginny gave her father minute details of what she saw, heard and tasted at the fair, not forgetting to describe everything she saw at the Grangers’ home or on her way to the fair. Arthur listened with envy as she told him about the TV in Hermione’s home. She promised her father she would ask Hermione all about it and, if possible, take a closer look at the TV; who knows, maybe she could come back with an instructions booklet. Arthur rubbed his hands with child-like anticipation. Molly on the other hand was more concerned with Hermione and John Albus. The shine in Ginny’s eyes when she spoke about them was a sight Molly welcomed. John Albus had stolen the youngest Weasley’s heart; it was written all over her face.

 

Having finished their breakfast, it was time to grab their lunches and start getting ready for work. Arthur took Molly’s hand to prevent her from leaving and produced a piece or parchment, which he handed to Ginny. 

 

“This is Hermione’s testimony at the trial. I think you should read it.”  Arthur took Ginny’s hand and placed the piece of parchment on it feeling his wife’s gentle squeeze.

 

Ginny closed her hand around it and asked her father. “Why now and not before?”

 

Arthur felt Molly’s grip on his hand tighten. He gave her a gentle gaze in return and proceeded to answer Ginny’s question. “Your mother and I decided to let you and the rest of your siblings heal at your own pace after the war. We were also coping, sometimes barely, with your brother’s death and losing so many dear friends. We tried to help you all the best we could and you tried to help each other. What you did for George, Ginny, took love and determination. Bill had Fleur. Charlie has learned to cope better than we expected and so has Percy. Ron ... he has all of us whenever he is ready or maybe someone out there is meant to give him the answers he is looking for, we don’t know, and you ... you have devoted the last three years of your life to be there for us and then with great courage you faced a friend deeply hurt not only by you but all of us and asked for forgiveness. I’m sure you didn’t expect anything in return, it was just the right thing to do and it happened because you were ready to face the consequences of a big error in judgment. You are ready to listen to Hermione and Draco now, even if it’s three years later.”  

 

Arthur paused and took Ginny’s free hand. “Love, Ginny, is a powerful force. Remember that as you read this parchment. See how it transformed Hermione and Draco. Remember Remus and Tonks, even Severus. Real love lets the light come through and shine from within us, it shields us from darkness, sometimes without us knowing. Harry comes to mind. Love is behind his scar, and it was that love, which defeated Voldermort. James’s and Lily’s love shielded  Harry from the darkness that hunted him since his birth and ... it may still help him win his last battle, the one against himself.” 

 

Arthur and Ginny exchanged glances. That last phrase pierced Ginny’s heart. Her father had seen more deeply into Harry’s soul than she in her cowardliness allowed herself to do. Arthur continued. “For those walking in darkness, like the Malfoys, love is a choice. I have learned Narcissa’s love for her son might have saved him of a much more cruel fate than the one his parents had chosen for him and I do hope and believe it may give her the strength to see and choose the light in the midst of the darkest of all places like Azkaban and, just like Draco, let it shine on her exposing whatever good still lingers in her soul. Love asks only that you give it freely, expecting nothing in return. Love is, had been and always will be the most wonderful, life changing experience of our lives. Remember, Ginny, that we love you and are so very proud of you!”

 

Arthur rose slowly. He had spoken longer than Ginny had ever witnessed him do. The admiration both women showered on him was evident in their moistened eyes. He kissed both on the forehead and made his way to kitchen. 

 

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Harry has never left her thoughts. She had found some peace of mind voicing out loudly her true feelings about Harry and their relationship with Hermione and was grateful for the wisdom in her advice. Then her father gave her the parchment and that moving speech, and whatever doubts she had about what she was about to do had disappeared. So it was with great conviction and some trepidation at the same time that she confided in her brother George about her decision. She needed him and he was only too happy to help her. Regarding Hermione and the decision to inform her brothers about it, her mother thought it better to wait for Hermione’s answer to her letter. George received Ginny’s news with pride and gladness.

 

“You gave me my life back, little sister. I have been selfish keeping you here all this time. I was wondering how long you would last here. I’m glad you are following your calling, about time!” George was sitting on the back counter, still on pajamas, drinking coffee, his new love. Ginny was facing him with a worried look on her face. “Keeping it a secret from mum is going to be a challenge but ... trust me ... Molly Weasley taught us well,” he said grinning.

 

“So, you don’t mind? I mean, I will still come half days. You’re so busy during the school months and then the inventory, stacking, depositing the money, George, it’s so much to do!”  She wasn’t convinced. She couldn’t help but feel like she was abandoning him. George could see the worry frown of Ginny’s face.

 

“Ginny, you are giving me the wonderful opportunity of not only fooling mum but of returning a favour. Mildred and I can manage, and you are not gone just yet. First, you need to get in, and you will. Once that happens then we’ll work on the rest. You won’t go far, you’ll be upstairs studying and under close supervision, young lady; no fooling around with that boyfriend of yours. By the way, is he in on it too?” asked George who didn’t know about Ginny’s and Harry’s last row.

 

“He will be today,” she answered avoiding sounding too concerned.  

 

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“Recruiting office, recruiting office …”  Ginny repeated out loud as she scanned St. Mungo’s Directory. Her hazel eyes were darting up, down, left and right looking for the location of the Healers’ Admissions and Recruiting Office. At last, she found it. Obviously the administration thought it wasn’t a very important department because its location was in the farthest corner of the hospital and four floors down! 

 

The night before, after saying goodbye to Hermione, she walked for a while before Apparating back home. It was then when she made her decision of applying to be a Healer and of having a heart to heart conversation with Harry. 

 

Getting up in the morning was harder and harder each day and she knew why. It wasn’t her dream or her calling to have a joke shop; it was Fred’s and George’s, and her brother didn’t need her anymore. He was healing. Now it was her turn to follow her calling and fulfill her dreams. Hermione was right; her relationship with Harry was stagnant, going nowhere. How long has it been since she last visited his parents’ home or Grimmauld Place? A long time. She had been avoiding the obvious as if not talking about it or looking at it would change the reality that she didn’t like where her relationship with Harry was heading nor did she like what had become of Harry James Potter, the Most Powerful Wizard of his time. She helped George by doing very little really but regardless of whether or not she had done what she did, George would always love her and she would always love him. What about Harry? Would he still love her after later this afternoon? Her father’s words hinted at Harry’s demons; the ones she chose to ignore but deep down knew were real.  

 

It was elating, pursuing one’s dreams, finding an old, lost friend and starting to put bad memories behind. She couldn’t help but smile. Was she afraid of Harry’s reaction? Merlin, yes! But she was more afraid of letting her relationship with the man she loved turn into regret or maybe something worse like indifference. And the first step was right in front of her as she opened the door to the Healer Admissions and Recruitment Office.

 

As she went in her eyes had to adjust to the scarcity of light. Was she in a cave?  Few candles were floating above her and in the far distance, giving shape to the counter a few metres ahead, against which a silhouette leaned. Above the witch or wizard more than a dozen parchments floated, maybe bored because no one had bother to open them. Owls were flying in and out along with small pieces of papers, and they all knew where to drop their cargo or in case of the pieces of paper place themselves. It was a big room, the long rows of shelves fading in the distance behind the counter told her so, yet she felt as if she had entered into her home’s broom closet.

 

The witch in charge was reading a parchment, murmuring to herself. Ginny walked a few metres  and stopped in front of the counter without saying a word.

 

“Well?” asked the witch, whose voice brought an image to Ginny’s head of someone with a clothes pin on her nose because that was exactly the way the witch sounded like. 

 

“I was wondering if I could have the guidelines for admission to the Healer program.” Ginny’s inquiry was met by a wrinkled face whose owner reminded the young witch of an old, crumpled piece of parchment.

 

Without moving from her spot and turning her attention back to the piece of parchment she was reading the old witch started pointing with her wand at different directions from which parchments approached and then stopped above Ginny’s head. “These are the dates for examinations; you must choose two dates in case one is already full. This you have to fill out, it is your personal information. This has the date when training starts. If you pass your entry exam you’ll be notified by owl. Good luck.”

 

   With a flick of her wand Ginny let the parchments fall into her bag. “Thank you, Miss ...”

 

“No problem, sweetie. I don’t get visitors down here often. Forgive me, didn’t mean to sound rude.” She held the parchment she was reading and waved it at Ginny. “This poor boy has been rejected and I’m the one having to tell him. At least I don’t have to look at him while doing it. So please, spare me having to write one of this to you. You have such a pretty face! What’s your name anyway?” The old witch’s dark eyes became aware of her for the first time since she stood in front of the counter.

 

“Ginevra Weasley,” Ginny answered as she was about to exit. 

 

“Weasley! You’re Fred’s and Ron’s Weasley sister?” The witch straightened up and her dark eyes shone with admiration. “Your brother died a hero. Is a great honour meeting you. We owed you all and Harry Potter a great debt. You know, I remember a recommendation with high praises coming from Hogwarts. It was from the headmistress and your name was on it.” A parchment suddenly made its way into Ginny’s hands. “Send it with your application; I’m sure the headmistress wouldn’t mind. Good luck again, Miss Weasley.”

 

“Thank you,” Ginny said holding back the tears. Fred died a hero! She missed him so much! Before the door closed behind her she turned and said, “There is someone else you should remember, Hermione Granger. Believe me when I tell you, she helped Harry Potter more than any of us did with her unwavering loyalty, friendship and constant encouragement. We owe her too.” From now on she’d made sure no one forget the Heroine of Hogwarts.

 

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What she was staring at was an abandoned house not a home. True, Grimmauld Place was surrounded by dilapidated houses, unkempt gardens and abandoned buildings but inside it looked just as grim as the neighborhood outside. It was a bright, sunny afternoon in London but inside Grimmauld Place it was dark as a cave. “ _Lumos_ ,” whispered Ginny walking over what used to be a table. The sound of broken glass and unknown debris as she walked echoed through the house. What she saw appalled her. If anything, it appeared as if a tornado had gone through it. All the paintings were gone from the front hall. The kitchen sink had a metre high of dirty dishes, dust had settled on them, which meant that pile of dishes had been there for some time. The smell of stale and rotten food was unmistakable. The kitchen table was against one of the walls, and bits and pieces of broken chairs, plates and cups were scattered all over the floor. The room across the hall displayed more broken furniture and even the walls had all the markings of spells fired at them. Her pulse accelerated, she was scared and anxious to see Harry. She ran upstairs searching in every room. Harry wasn’t there. 

 

Without giving it a second thought she Apparated at Godric’s Hollow. She went into the house not sure what she would find. There it was again, signs of Harry’s rage and pain. Heavy curtains stopped the afternoon sun from coming in. Ginny took care of it and opened and drew all the curtains in the dinning room and living room. There were pieces of furniture and broken plates all over and signs of damaged walls just like in Grimmauld Place. With some relief she saw signs that Harry had been staying at his parents’ home. The couch had a pillow and blankets on it and on the floor beside it a cup half full with tea. Tears filled her eyes. _‘Oh Harry, how could I be so stupid!'_ She had no idea Harry was living and feeling ... A voice she barely recognized startled and interrupted her thoughts.

 

“What are you doing here?” His voice sounded louder in the almost empty house. Harry was standing in the corridor bare footed, wearing jeans and a shirt with clear signs of needing a good washing and on his right hand he held his broom. His green eyes were dark with many emotions dancing in them. If he was pleased to see her or angry at her she couldn’t tell.

 

Ginny cleaned the tears on her face. _‘Whatever you do, Ginny, do not raise your voice and keep very calm.'_ Inhaling through her nose and letting the air go out through her mouth slowly, she answered softly.  “I ... needed to talk to you. I went to Grimmauld Place and then I came here.” 

 

She held his gaze in spite of the panic creeping inside her. There was something about Harry she couldn’t recognize. It was the same man she had a row with days ago and at the same time he was not. The man who took her out on a picnic or sat with her while she read Hermione’s parchments at The Burrow was not the one standing in front of her. 

 

She turned and sat on the couch inviting Harry with a quick glance to sit beside her. Turning half way he placed his broom against the banister behind him. He didn’t move from where he stood. His arms were by his side and his eyes fell on her again.

 

“I apologize for losing my temper and saying what I said,” she said with all her heart, hoping he could see how truly sorry she was. 

 

“And now comes the real reason why you are here. You are going to break up with me.” His voice was harsh but those beautiful green emerald eyes allowed a flicker of pain escape as he said those words. 

 

In a second Ginny rose and placed her hands on his waist and lifting up her head so that he could see she was speaking the truth she said, “I came here to say I’m sorry and that I love you more than you can imagine, Harry. I don’t want us to be finished” 

 

“Ginny, you meant what you said, every word. You are ashamed of me because I didn’t finish school, tired of me being around you so much; you think I’m good for nothing.” He made no attempt to touch her.

 

Again, she told herself to calm down. “It’s not what I meant to say.”

 

“What did you mean then?” He almost screamed.

 

She let go of him and walked towards one of the windows. Her eyes were full of tears. She didn’t know what to do or say. It was obvious Harry was not well and had not been for a long time. Guilt, sorrow, confusion and fear assaulted her at once and then she remembered her father’s words spoken during breakfast that morning, _‘Real love lets the light come through and shine from within us. It shields us from darkness.’_ With the back of her hand she wiped both her eyes and face. 

 

She turned around. She was hesitant and not sure about what to say but if she loved him she’d rather lose him than to let him destroy himself. “I came here to tell you that I’m going to take the exams to be admitted to the Healer program at St. Mungo’s. The shop wasn’t my dream; it was Fred’s and George’s. I want to be Healer, it is something I have been putting off for far too long and now it’s time I do something about it.”

 

“And I’m holding you back.  I ... I’m not ... I have taken for granted that you’ll always ...” He wanted to say so much more but he didn’t know how. His chest was about to explode. Anger and fear of losing Ginny were overpowering him.

 

Ginny saw both emotions in his eyes. His chest was rising up and down in rapid movements and his hands were close in tight fists. She walked towards him and held both his hands. “I love you. I’m not leaving you, Harry, not now, not ever.”  For the first time Harry avoided her gaze.

 

“Ginny ...” There were so many feelings trapped inside of him, so much guilt and pain and anger but...the words were stuck in his mouth. “I can’t, I can’t ...” He was walking aimlessly around, his face rested on his forearms and his hands were crossed at the back of his head. 

 

Ginny followed his movements but said nothing. He stopped and knelt down. He picked something up and without warning sat on the floor with his legs crossed and started to cry. Ginny sat beside him and looked at the picture in his hands. Hermione, Ron and Harry were smiling at her with Hogwarts in the background. Silent tears ran through her face as Harry lay on the floor crying on her lap, holding nothing back, finding comfort in the fact that for the first time since he started his downward trek he wasn’t crying alone.

      

   How long until his breathing was calmer and his sobs subsided?  She couldn’t tell. Outside was dark and her legs were numb. “Harry?” she whispered. “Come, let’s go to The Burrow, get something to eat and get a good night’s sleep.”

 

He stirred a little while Ginny ran her fingers through his hair. With his thumb he caressed the faces in the picture he held and never let go as he lay on the floor crying. “I miss them, you know. I miss us. There’s nothing left. I have nothing left ...”

 

Ginny’s eyes glistened again. How could she claim she loved him and at the same made him feel alone and left behind? She canvassed their surroundings and recalled what she saw at Grimmauld Place. All signs of Harry’s inner conflicts and unresolved issues were manifested in every piece of broken furniture, on the black spots on the walls and in the darkness dominant in both places. What was she supposed to do? Her gaze turned to the picture again.

 

“Harry, I talked to Hermione yesterday.” She smiled remembering how much fun she had. “She is not promising anything but if you want to ... see her, talk to her, she is okay with it. Mum is going to write to her, maybe you could send her some lines too.”

 

He sat up still clinging to the picture. His eyes were red and swollen and Ginny couldn’t help but smile inside when she saw anger and pain replaced by hope as he looked at her. “Is she ... I mean ... are you sure I can ...What am I supposed to say? She is not promising anything ... It means...”

 

“It means nothing until you two face each other.” She held both of his hands with hers and gave him a reassuring gaze. “She cares for you, Harry, she loves you as much as she did years ago and because of that her pain runs deeper. Read her letters again before you approach her. Read her testimony at Malfoy’s trial.” Harry had a questioning look on his face. “Dad gave me the transcriptions of her testimony this morning. I haven’t had the time to read them myself. Maybe we can read them together, would you like that?”

 

He answered as his gaze returned to the picture in his hand. “I would like that very much.”

 

“I’m hungry. Could we please go home?” she said standing in front of him offering her hand to him.

 

Harry realized he was hungry too and in need of a shower and a warm bed. He placed the picture inside one his pants’ back pocket and took her hand.

 

“Tomorrow we start the cleaning process. If Hermione and John Albus come for a visit what do you think her reaction would be?” She wasn’t sure a visit was even possible considering Hermione’s feelings about magic and the magical world but Harry needed hope, a reason to get up in the morning and start his way out and into the light. She may even ask her mum for help.

 

Harry turned his head around. Hermione would have a fit and there would be no end to her nagging. “She would probably scold me nonstop and make me do all the cleaning without magic.” He paused and then asked her. “Her son’s name is John Albus?”

 

“Nice name, isn’t it?” she said. “Beware, Harry Potter, I have now developed a taste for cute blond men.”

 

Smiling she held his hand and Apparated back to The Burrow.

 


	18. <b>Chapter 18</b>

  
Author's notes:

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  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.**

 

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**Chapter 18:  A Week In The Life Of Hermione Granger.  Part I**

 

   Seven days ago getting up in the morning, going to work and coming back home just to do the same thing all over again the next day was what life had been like for Hermione Granger ever since she walked away from magic, and John Albus was born almost two years ago.

  During the same time frame that reality had changed greatly and life for Hermione Granger became anything but predictable.  Ever since Draco and Ginny came back into her life a week ago, the words order, certainty, peace and tranquillity were no longer part of her vocabulary. Getting up in the morning in a dreamlike state while going about her routine like an automaton had been replaced by ... what should she name it? Anticipation, eagerness, joy, sorrow, fear, hesitation, havoc? All of that. 

  On Monday, her plans were to have lunch with Draco anticipating nothing but a frown and a little tantrum from the father of her child after choosing Ginny over him to go out on Sunday. She, in return, was to have fun while experimenting with being a Slytherin for a day. Her plans backfired.

   Fun was short lived. Instead it was replaced first by an epiphany. She thought there was nothing for her in the Muggle world because she ran away from the one place she thought she truly belonged and in the span of a few hours realization hit her like a ton of bricks. For the past couple of years she had made a good life for herself and her son in a world where none of its inhabitants were wizards or witches but plain, simple, non-magical, wonderful, generous and loving Muggles.

   Secondly, Draco did frown a lot but ... she was going to Hogsmeade and he was going to meet her parents afterwards. He had ‘decided’ for both of them. That was the verb he used and the action implied in that verb didn’t include her input. As much as she loved him, Draco Malfoy lacked understanding of what it meant to be in a loving relationship. She overlooked it in the past, not any more. It was a challenge, which would need patience and a whole lot of restrain from her part. In fact, it might even require keeping a safe physical distance between his lips and hands and herself if she was going to tackle that hurdle. Some irritation managed to come up, mostly at herself for being so much in love it clouded her capacity to keep a cool head and at Draco’s arrogance and manipulative antics.

   She was terrified of going back to the wizarding world and relive painful memories and then face her parents, who were going to bombard them with questions she had no answers to and by Merlin! she wasn’t going to allow Draco to speak for both of them, and yet she gave in. It was very simple: Draco Malfoy never asked, he ‘informed’ her she was going to Hogsmeade.

   Thirdly, Draco and her relationship with him had become public to everyone in the vicinity of The Last Page due to the fact that she, Hermione Granger, kissed and was kissed in such an inhibited, unbridle manner it left little doubt about it. Needless to say, St. Aidan’s Social Committee would have reasons to ‘visit’  her at the shop for many days, even weeks to come.

   And last but not least she had to tell her parents about their plans for Friday. She chose to do it Monday night, while she helped out clearing the table after supper. Mum would be occupied at the sink, Dad would be reading the paper and John Albus would be playing with his toys coming in and out of the kitchen. Perfect setting. Everyone busy.

   "Draco and I are going out Friday afternoon and then he would like to stop by and ... meet you both,” Hermione said in her best matter of fact tone and without facing her parents as she was placing the place mats back into the proper drawer.

   Candice and John exchanged a quick glance. Her parents had talked about Hermione and Draco, the main subject being how little they knew about the history of their relationship. It was odd, but John and Candice had a better understanding of the history of Hermione’s friendship with Ginny Weasley than they had about the father of their grandson. Not once did the name Draco Malfoy was mentioned or written during Hermione’s years at Hogwarts or since, and yet they had a son together. Candice, as usual was bursting with questions, recriminations, worries and even demands, while John was concerned about what Hermione was not telling them.

   Three years  ago Hermione came back to them pregnant, broken and traumatized. On top of that, the Grangers had to cope with the knowledge that their memories had been altered to ‘protect’ them from a person or persons they knew nothing about because of a war in which their daughter had been involved actively for months! Her friendship with Mr. Potter and the Weasleys was severely damaged and her love for magic lost.  The wizarding world hurt her deeply. The details were not important. Hermione could barely cope with her pain and that was why they started a new life to protect her from the aftermath of the war and from those who hurt her so badly. And now Hermione was being lured back to that same world, which she claimed betrayed and abandoned her.

   What to do?  For how long should they stand back and let events unfold? Candice was afraid of losing her daughter and grandson to a world neither one of them understood at all and John was afraid of Hermione losing herself while trying to come to terms with the changes thrust upon her by the reappearance of Ginevra Weasley and Draco Malfoy. When it became obvious that Hermione had magical powers they welcomed the news and tried to teach their daughter the great opportunity and responsibility of having such powers. Hermione was a witch and with certainty his grandson had dormant magical powers, which made John wonder if denying who she was wouldn’t end up hurting Hermione more than anything else she had gone through.

   Hermione couldn’t help but turn around and face her parents after the place mats were put away. She was leaning against the counter holding on to it with her hands, palms down and fingers clinging tightly to the edge. Candice was sitting beside her husband, who joined his fingers with hers. The only sound that could be heard was John Albus's growling as he played with his dinosaurs. 

   “Going out?” John asked looking at Hermione directly into her eyes.

_‘Must he always do that?’_   She tightened her hold on the counter and nervously stole a glance at John Albus before answering. “We are going to Hogsmeade, a wizarding village close to Hogwarts.”

    “Why?” Candice spoke for the first time. Under any other circumstances her tone wouldn’t sound as calm and collected but her husband’s touch kept her from losing control. “I mean, what’s so important about that place? I thought ... you said ... you didn’t want to go back ever again.” 

_'I don’t, do I?’_   Hermione gave her Mum a small smile. Candice’s voice had a touch of sadness and apprehension. Hermione sat at the kitchen table and placed one of her hands on top of her parents' showering her Mum with a loving gaze while her tone was soft and tender. “It’s just a small trip, nothing else. Please, Mum, don’t worry, it’s just a few hours and then we’ll be back here.”

     Silent tears streamed down Candice’s face. She had no words only the dread she was living with ever since she encountered Ginny and Draco in her living room, and for the first time she allowed Hermione to see it. 

    “Mum, Dad,” Hermione continued as her free hand gently wiped her Mum’s tears and her gaze embraced her parents. She sensed what Candice was not saying out loud and her father hid so well.  “I’ll never hurt you again, ever. I’ll never forget that you’re my parents and that when everyone else turned their backs on me you took me in without questions or recriminations. You allowed me to be who I was and let me go and be part of a world you didn’t understand or could be part of. I was selfish and ungrateful. I neglected you for many years; it won’t happen again, no matter what the future holds, you have my word,” she concluded with absolute certainty in her voice.

   John straightened himself on his chair.  “So, Mr. Malfoy wants to meet us. Well, I think inviting him over for supper would be more appropriate, don’t you think, dear?” He asked Candice, who nodded a resigned yes. 

     Hermione stood up and kissed both her parents as John Albus’s blonde head appeared from underneath the table, all smiles. “Mum, how about you get John ready for his bath while I finish here? I won’t be long”

     Candice took her grandson in her arms hugging him tightly as she made her way out. John swallowed hard and blinked rapidly sending a couple of tears back to where they came from as he realized his daughter’s promise could only mean one thing: even if she went back to magic and the wizarding world they may not lose her at all.

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     Tuesday greeted Hermione with a tiny owl standing on her bedroom window and whose feathers had the same colour as the grey skies threatening rain outside. She was glad she managed a quiet gasp and not a full blown scream as she turned on her bed and thought she was dreaming as the little owl came into her bedroom and parked himself on her night table. Three parchments were attached to one of his legs.

    She took them and patted him gently. “Thank you,” she murmured in her raspy morning voice. “Tell Ginny you were very good and very quiet and almost killed me!” The little owl didn’t move. “I don’t have an answer, I’m still in bed and not awake yet ... whatever your name is, go, come back ... tomorrow and it better not be this early!” He was not leaving. Hermione cursed under her breath. From under her blanket one of her arms came out and with her hand she searched for pen and paper on top of the night table forcing the small owl to fly back to the window sill. Lifting her head a little she wrote two short sentences acknowledging receiving the parchments and promising an answer soon. Beside her name she wrote the time:  ' _five thirty seven in the morning. Thank you very much, Ginny!'_  She rolled the small piece of paper and tied it with one of the strings from one of the parchments and with a wave of her hand dismissed the bird plopping her head back on her pillow.

   She didn’t have to leave home until maybe nine and John Albus went to bed at ten the night before which meant she had a good whole hour or more to relax. Should she read the parchments now or later at the bookshop?  No, Draco was coming to have lunch with her and she could imagine his reaction if he saw the parchments or mentioned Ginny at all. On the other hand, Ginny was her friend and probably would be for a long time, hopefully for the rest of her life, therefore Draco had better get used to that fact that she and Ginny would see a lot of each other. Then again, it was the day after ‘Hermione and Draco Act I’ and it could only mean one thing: as soon as the Open sign started greeting passersby the procession would start. Chances were, between customers, visitors, phone and whatever fate had in store for her, time would be scarce.

    Turning over she slid up a little, placing one of her pillows on her lower back. Outside birds were chirping in a thousand different tones greeting the new day although the skies were dark and the sun wasn’t interested in showing its face. Even the celestial bodies were not up yet and thanks to Mr. Owl With No Name her beauty sleep was cut short. She turned her small lamp on and dimmed it. Three parchments … Why would Ginny send three parchments instead of one? She rolled open one of the parchments.

    No sooner had she started reading that tears welled up in her eyes.  The words on the parchment belonged to Molly Weasley.

 

_Dearest Hermione,_

_Ever since Ginny let me know about you and your son my heart has not been able to stop aching nor my remorse and regret been more profound. Dear friend of my Ginny, Ron and Harry, what can I possibly write or say that would convey what I feel and have felt all these years? Are there any words, which will express how sorry I am, we are, of what we allowed to happen to you?_

_My dear child, would you find it your heart to forgive me? You have no idea how many times I reproached myself for not trying harder with Ron. I gave him space but it wasn’t enough. I cried with him, I listened. There was more to his rage and pain than losing you; there was Fred and Remus and Tonks, the list goes on. When it started to get out of hand nothing I did or say made any difference, but I never stopped trying no matter how hard Ron tried to push me away. In the end he refused to even look at me and he left._

_I don’t blame you for what happened with Ron and if I did it was so short-lived it is not worth mentioning. I was confused, baffled and yes, deeply disappointed after learning about your relationship with Draco but never did I harbour ill feelings towards you. If anything, Hermione, my debt to you can never be repaid. Harry defeated Voldemort but he stood on the shoulders of one the most loyal, bravest and generous friend he will ever have. You, Hermione._

_Ginny tells me you want nothing to do with magic or any of us in the magical world. But you have given Ginny another chance and it has made a world of difference in her life. I can’t thank you enough for it. Would it be too much to ask if you’d give us another chance? Arthur and I would love to have you, Draco and John Albus over for some tea. I do hope you both accept our invitation. I must admit I want to meet John Albus; Ginny is really taken with him. Your son must be very special._

_If you’d rather we meet somewhere in Muggle London don’t hesitate and name the place. If I don’t hear from you, I'll understand. Either way, Hermione, there will always be a special place for you and your son in our hearts and yes, even for Draco._

_All our love,_

_Molly and Arthur._

 

 

    John Albus let out a big sigh. He was sleeping on his stomach clutching his baby dinosaur with one hand while his other arm was tucked under his body. She glanced outside her window; it had started to rain. Tears were flowing freely down her face. A repeat of the same emotions when she first saw Ginny outside The Last Page shrouded her heart. First the shock, then the pain and then disgust. Disgust not towards Molly but towards Ron and herself. What must have been like for Molly to lose a son while trying to console the rest of her family at the same time! Hermione could only imagine if John Albus was not part of her life. She’d die. Guilt and sorrow tug at her. Why would she feel anger towards Molly and Arthur? They were going through so much after the war and her actions added salt to the wound. She would never apologize for falling in love with Draco, no bloody way but ... Ron, the fucking selfish bastard coward Ron reacted the only way he knew how, like the Neanderthal that he was.  So he did what he was good at, he left, good riddance! If she knew Ron and she did, the minute Molly uttered a conciliatory word his mother became the enemy. Even if Molly never mentioned her name the fact that she was not ranting and raving like he was against one of ‘Voldemort’s whores’ as he called her meant that his mother was against him.

_‘I should have tried to contact her and explain to her rather than wasting my time with Harry and that piece of garbage. I owed her that much.'_  Her gaze fell on John Albus. As she erased her tears with the back of her hand, her lips curved into a smile. Ginny liked her son and John Albus definitely had a crush on Ginny. The fact the he was a Malfoy had not become an issue with her friend and she doubted it would ever be a problem for Molly Weasley. Her gaze fell on the parchment. Molly had extended her invitation to Draco; she was making room for him in her heart, in spite of who he had been and done. A wicked smirk appeared on Hermione’s face, Ron would implode once he knew about Draco and her having tea at The Burrow. That alone would make it worthwhile accepting Molly’s invitation. The smirk turned into a frown. Should she let Draco know about Molly’s letter?  She shook her head and dug her fingers in her wild morning hair letting out a big sigh. She was not even out of bed yet and like Monday, Tuesday promised to be as exciting as the roller coaster she went through the day before. 

 Two more pieces of parchments to go through. Closing her eyes and without turning her head she took one of the two parchments on top of her night table. She could almost hear her heart thumping in her chest. Ginny’s calligraphy greeted her.

 

_Hermione,_

_Please don’t be mad at me. Mum wanted so badly to write to you, I didn’t have the heart to say she’d better not and then Harry was in such bad shape! Sunday night my Mum learned about you and John Albus, actually she was waiting for me in my room ready to give me a piece of her mind. We cried, I learned what an amazing woman you are (as if I didn’t know already!) At the mention of John Albus, my mother turned into ... you know her. If John Albus were in front of her your poor son would have been smothered by one of her powerful hugs not to mention countless kisses._

_Yesterday was one of those days. Too much happened. We need to talk. Harry is not well.  Remember what you said about Harry not loving himself, not knowing what to do now that he had defeated Voldemort? You have no idea how right you were. I may be asking too much of you, forgive me, but if you could just give him some hope that you two have a chance it would make a world of difference._

_I went to St. Mungos yesterday. I’m so excited! When can I see you? May I drop by the shop? Maybe I better call you today. I don’t know what to do about Harry. If you had seen him yesterday you’d understand. I know how much he hurt you but the Harry Potter of three years ago is almost gone. Sorry, Hermione, I didn’t know what else to do.  I’ll call you this afternoon._

_Ginny._

_PS: I gave instructions to Koko to be very quiet and discreet. I’m sure he followed them, did he? He takes himself too seriously sometimes._

 

 

   She could almost picture Ginny talking nonstop, hazel eyes big and filled with excitement, uncertainty and begging for compassion towards her boyfriend. Hermione glanced at the last parchment. Once again she let out a big sigh and let herself slide down back on her bed. She grabbed the pillow resting on her side and covered her face with it. A loud groan and a  Oh God!  poured out from her throat. Pamplona came to mind all of a sudden. Instead of bulls she was chased by all the memories, good and bad from her years at Hogwarts followed by Draco, Harry, her parents and all the Weasleys. Her feet were not fast enough. Soon those bulls would make puree out of her.

   Another groan and a few choice words were muffled by the pillow on her face. It was getting stuffy under it. Leaning against the headboard, Hermione gave a weary look at Harry’s letter. Once in her hands she stared at it. Harry was her brother, one of the most important persons in her life and he hurt her deeply by his actions or lack of. He chose Ron over her and it wasn’t about choosing between his two best friends, it was about being a friend to both of them. She had a suspicion about what made him side with Ron every time she and Ron had a row. Harry saw Ron as the weakest of his two friends. After all, she was the smartest witch of her age, God forbid she was in need of help or rescue of any kind!  How many times was Harry stuck in the middle of their stupid arguments?  How many times did Harry try to put words in Ron’s mouth that were not his but Harry’s? The son of a bitch lied to Harry. Her anger rose to the boiling point.

   It didn’t excuse Harry. He allowed Ron to humiliate her every time he had a chance. In front of patrons at The Three Broomsticks, chasing her out of his brothers’ shop countless times, screaming at the top of his lungs in The Leaky Cauldron once he found out where Draco and she were staying during the trial. True, most of the time he was alone and always drunk but the couple of times that Harry was with him it wasn’t to stop him, more to pick Ron up from the floor and drag him out sobbing and blubbering like the asshole that he was. It was Ron who contacted Rita Skeeter and vomited more of his venom against her and Draco in two very damaging articles which resulted in insults, comments and whispers from strangers. Molly said she tried to stop him, maybe Harry tried too. Better get it over with, read the bloody parchment and have a good cry before John Albus was up. A few tears slid down her face and at the same time concern and bewilderment masked her expression as she read Harry’s words.

 

_Hermione,_

_I am writing to you expecting nothing. I want nothing, I deserve nothing. I let you down so many times I’d rather forget it. Only problem is I can’t, so I accept it as my punishment._

_The bloody Hero Harry Potter couldn’t defend and protect the one if not the only friend he’d ever had. Voldemort is gone, so what! They died, you left because of me and my lack of character, Ginny wasted three years with me and on and on Harry Potter’s accomplishments go._

_I am so sorry, forgive me, Hermione. All the times you came to my rescue in so many different ways, and what do I do? The one time you needed me I betrayed you, I stood on the sidelines like the coward that I am. It’s too late now but I owed you an apology, more than an apology. Sorry it’s just not enough, don’t you think? Not a day has gone by where our last year together doesn’t repeat itself in my head over and over again and every day my shame and remorse grows bigger and bigger to the point where I think I’m going to explode. There is nothing I can do to go back in time; I should pay and I will. I deserve your hate and almost welcome it. At least you feel something for me._

_Ginny says you are with your parents and that you and Draco are really in love. After reading your testimony at his trial I have no doubts that you two would be happy together. You are an incredible woman. Draco is a lucky man. You found peace and happiness away from here; maybe I should do the same._

_Mrs. Weasley is hoping to see you soon too. They never meant to hurt you or let Ron behave the way he did. They are good people. If you could see her face when she talked about you and your son! You have been so generous towards Ginny, maybe there is room in your heart for a bit more and you can forgive the Weasleys._

_Goodbye, Hermione. Have a good, wonderful life. If anyone deserves it, it is you. Hope you and Ginny continue your friendship and that John Albus grows to be as generous and smart a wizard as you are._

_Harry._

     

 

   Something was not right.  Hermione straighten up and wiped her tears swiftly. The person writing this letter wasn’t Harry. His words were painted with defeat and so much self loathing it scared her. Was Ginny truly aware of Harry’s state of mind? She could almost touch Harry’s rage as she glided her fingers through the parchment. His beautiful emerald eyes would be dark and intimidating all the while full of so much sorrow and confusion her eyes filled with tears again imagining it. His hands on his head trying to tame his rebellious hair and those disturbing thoughts, his shoulders sagging, his spirit drowning in a sea of self doubt, fear and defeat. He was planning something. She needed to see him. How? Ginny said she was going to call her later...

   There was resolve and urgency in her expression. In three quick movements she flung her bedspread aside, got out of bed and sat at her desk, paper and pen ready. She had no owl, maybe Draco did and if he didn’t she was going to ask Ginny to meet her today and give her the response to Harry’s letter. He needed to have it in his hands as soon as possible until she could figure out her next move. She was almost certain what that move might be as well as the how and the when. Soon her letter was finished. Folding the paper she placed it inside an envelope and wrote ‘To Harry’ on it and put it in the front pocket of her backpack. Glancing quickly at John Albus she grabbed her neatly folded clothes on top of her dresser and dashed to the bathroom.

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    As expected her morning was everything she imagined and more. To avoid any unnecessary and unwelcome distractions she decided not to walk from the bus station to the bookshop. Instead she rode on number 12 almost running to the front door of The Last Page as she stepped out of the bus. That took care of Horace and Mrs. Murdoch. Nothing would stop Mrs. Travis though. Ten minutes after ten, dear old Mrs. Travis barged in taking her place on the chair behind the counter talking while Hermione answered phones, took care of some paperwork in the back office and finally had no choice but give the noisy woman all her chafed attention. 

   Mr. Lynch saved her. “Beatrice, unless your signature is on Hermione’s pay check you'd better get off my chair, buy something or get out. Don’t you have a husband to take care of?”  His booming voice filled the empty shop and caused Mrs. Travis’ face to turn a light shade of pink and Hermione’s features to hide a sign of relief.

    “How do you manage to endure this old grouch, I can’t imagine!” Mrs. Travis inquired, while ignoring Jeremiah Lynch who had taken possession of his chair pushing her unceremoniously out of the way.

    “How does Hermione put up with all the prying, gossiping hens surrounding this shop would be a better question! My shop is not a public meeting place nor is my one and only employee paid to be distracted by…” He stood up, took Mrs. Travis by the elbow and gently but firmly guided her towards the exit and continued his diatribe. “… by bored and meddlesome old hags with nothing better to do but mind everybody else’s business but theirs. Goodbye, Beatrice. Let your accomplices know I’m going to be here all day so, keep away from me!” He slammed the door on her face and turned around grinning at Hermione.

   “That should give you a few hours of peace.” His slinky, tall figure made its way to the chair. He wasn’t an old man. Maybe a few years older than her Dad. A man of few words, hiding behind a mask of roughness and crassness he made no attempt to modify but which Hermione knew hid his generosity and warmth too well. His face was softened as he gazed at Hermione.

   “It had come to my attention that you used some of the time I pay you for to stab one of your knees in the stomach of some blond bloke who in return chased after you right into my shop, which stayed closed for business for close to ten minutes with the two of you inside and then...” He added with the wickest grin in his face, “you Miss Granger snogged said blond young man right in front of Murphy’s Place and the rest of our little piece of heaven, which you know is very small,” he finished as he took his pipe and lighted a match to ignite it.

   Hermione’s mortification and embarrassment were written all over her face. Her bottom lip was going to start bleeding any time as her teeth dug into it with nervousness. Her right hand held on to the counter to stop her from sliding to the floor while the other played with the pen between her fingers. All of a sudden she was very interested on the floor underneath her sandals. Mr. Lynch watched her closely and waited, relaxing on his chair.

   “Mr. Lynch ...” She could barely allow air to make it to her lungs, speak or look at him, “I ... I am ... I can explain ... Oh God!” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, sir, I can assure you it won’t happen again ... It's just that … please, I need this job, I’ll do anything!” She stopped and raised her head daring to look at her boss who she found was holding her shoulders and looking at her not with anger but concern and some amusement in his eyes.

   "Before we have to call an ambulance you need to calm down, lady.” Hermione realized she was not breathing. Mr. Lynch invited her to sit down and walked into his office situated at the back of the store. Out he came with a glass of water, which he handed to Hermione. “You are not in trouble, Hermione. I’m more curious than anything.” His voice was warm and playful.

   "So, you are all right? That bloke is to be trusted or should I encourage Clarence to have a word with him? I must warn you, Clarence is going to stop by at some point today most likely with some food from Mum as an excuse.” He broke into a wide grin as he spoke. “You know, Clarence takes his role of big brother way too seriously. The only reason he is not here right now is because I pulled rank on him. After all I’m the owner of this place. I had to promise to be ‘nice’ to you or else he would pound the bloody daylights out of me, his words not mine,” he clarified.

   Hermione tried to smile back at him but instead her worried frown permeated her features once more. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lynch ... so sorry.”

   “For what?  Your behaviour and that of Mr. ...” he stopped prompting Hermione to fill in. 

    “Draco Malfoy,” she informed him.

    "Draco ... hmm ... hopefully the name doesn’t have anything to do with his personality. His parents must have a wicked sense of humour. Anyway, you two have not done anything other than to give Beatrice reasons to be more annoying if that is possible and my poor nephew a broken heart and yes, let's not forget Roger, the sleazy bastard!”

   “Mr. Lynch ...” Hermione started to speak.

    “Hermione,” Mr. Lynch interjected. “Relax, you’re still employed. People in love behave like idiots. Please don’t be offended but you must admit, that was quite a show you two gave ... Well let's leave it at that before you forget how to breathe again. Now, answer the bloody question, are you all right, is that bloke to be trusted? All I want to know is that you are not going to be distracted while you are in charge of my store and that if you two want to ...  get to know each other better it will be during your lunch time. Preferably not on my couch at the back.” He couldn’t stop himself.  Hermione blushed.

    His next words were spoken softly showing a side of him only very few ever saw.  “Hermione, I’d hate it if someone hurt you. If this man is good to you and will be a good father to your son then I’m happy for you. Your dedication, honesty and hard work goes beyond what I expected. You care more for this shop than I do and it has been my redeeming grace.” He glanced around as if looking at his shop for the first time. “Look at it! It’s not a dump anymore. It is a welcoming, warm and clean place. Look at the display in the front window! Look at my books arranged with such care! I don’t know how you manage to break this old man’s barriers but you did. The day you walked into my shop was one of the luckiest days of my life. So ... are you ever going to answer my question?”

   “He is John Albus's  father and he is a good man and yes, I am an idiot in love,” she answered teasingly while a few tears were threatening to escape the confinement of her eyes.

   “To the point and not much information. It’ll do for now.” He had put on his scary mask back on but his eyes were still warm and caring. “You left me a message, remember?  Start talking.”

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     Lunch time came and went without Hermione’s awareness of the clock.  Mr. Lynch had left without letting her know when he’d be back. To her relief he gave her Friday off and didn’t seem to be interested for an explanation. The phone rang.

   “The Last Page, how may I help you?” she answered while balancing a stack of books with her free hand.

    Her face brighten up as the voice on the other side of the receiver reached her ear. “I’m sorry about this morning. You read the parchments, all of them? Please, don’t be mad at me. I thought it better to send them all together. About Harry, I need to have a long talk with you. When can I...”

    "Ginny, could you stop for a minute?” Hermione interrupted the downpour coming through the telephone with a smile on her face. “Yes, I read all three parchments, no, I’m not mad and yes, you can come any time today in fact, the sooner the better.”

    “What’s going on?” Ginny asked concerned. “Is it Draco, if that ferret...”

    Once again Hermione had to interject not without realizing that Draco was late. “Ginny, just come. Apparate if you must. Now will be a good time; it is lunch time, the shop is empty. Do it at the back of the shop, I will give you the exact location.”

     Ginny listened for Hermione’s instructions and within minutes was led inside The Last Page. “Wow! It’s like a miniature of the library at Hogwarts; it even looks just as old!”

     There was something about Ginny that made a room erupt into a myriad of colours. The wonder in her eyes, her playful, musical voice, her childlike enthusiasm, all of it made Hermione glad her friend was her friend again. 

     “Here, give this to Harry, today if possible,” Hermione handed Ginny the sealed envelope hiding her suspicions and concerns about Harry. “And this for your mum.” Her smile was cautious as she gave Ginny Molly’s letter. 

    The redheaded witch stared at both envelopes for a few seconds. With a flick of her wand they became tiny pieces of paper she tucked in the front pocket of her skirt. Hermione became aware of Ginny’s worried gaze, so she decided to give her friend some reassurance regarding the contents of her missives.

    “I’m hurt and cannot forget, Ginny, but I can not hate them. Not your mother or your father.  Ron is their son, your brother and family is family." _'That should be enough punishment'_   -she added in her head before continuing-  "I’ve learned that these past three years.”  Ginny kept quiet so Hermione added. “I invited your Mum to meet me here for some tea tomorrow, if you could please bring her by five or so, and ... how about you take care of the shop while your mum and I talk?”  It was a spur of the moment idea but she wanted to be alone with Molly.  “I know she is probably looking forward to us visiting The Burrow and meeting John Albus ... I can’t, not yet Ginny, I’m not ready ... It’s bad enough I’m going to Hogsmeade ...”

    “You’re going to Hogsmeade!” Ginny shouted excited and surprised. Hermione gave her a detailed account about everything that happened on Monday. It felt so wonderful having someone to talk to! Ginny exploded into laughter picturing Draco bending over with pain at the park and her eyes widened with hilarity and marvel as she pictured her friend acting totally out of character kissing Draco, no, snogging Draco right in front of everyone.

    “Who are you, what have you done to the  know- it- all, straight laced Hermione that I knew?  You …" Ginny was pointing her finger at Hermione teasing her with a broad smile, “have turned into this sex-maniac, head turning ... look at you! Merlin! I didn’t know you had breasts! Or hips or that you had clothes like these! Oho! Malfoy must have a hard time keeping little Malfoy from coming out to play, poor bloke. Just tell me you make him suffer to the point of bursting into flames? I certainly would love to see you in action.”

    “I think is the other way around, Ginny. Don’t forget Draco is a Slytherin through and through. But you do have a point, I’m learning to play that game too otherwise he will have all the fun and get his way every time.” Hermione’s face felt warm as her insides reacted with the memory of that mind-shattering kiss she and Draco shared the day before. “Thank you, I guess, for the compliment, by the way. You Weasleys, sure have a way with words,” she teased Ginny.

    Both girls fell into silence. Ginny came from behind the counter and strolled lazily around the shop, letting her fingers caress the books on the shelves. Hermione knew what was in her mind. “Ginny, there is nothing to worry about tomorrow. Your mum and I need to be alone, I need to be alone with her.” Not sure how to handle her uneasiness about Harry’s letter, Hermione went on. “I don’t hate Harry either. It’s much more complicated. Put yourself in my place. Seven years of friendship with the Boy Who Lived. Both of us outsiders.  He, because of who he was,  I, a muggle-born witch facing discrimination because of who my parents were. Fate brought us together and the friendship we forged was beyond anything I could have ever imagined. We found ourselves, children, doing a man’s job, fighting in a man’s war. Harry and I shared loneliness, hunger, the elements, pain, sorrow, rage, evil in many shapes and forms, happiness, love and death. We understood and loved each like brother and sister, maybe more. All of that was forgotten. I have been carrying on with my life with this ... hole in my heart, with this sorrow. I buried, at least I thought I did, all that reminded me of you and that world, and by doing that I have come to the realization that some part of me was buried with it too. Because of you and Draco I find myself wondering whether or not I want or need to become whole Hermione Granger again. I love Harry, I told him that in my letter. I promised to listen and nothing more. How or when it’ll happen, it’s not for me to say. I left the door open; he can write or come see me anytime.”

    It was a long, unexpected speech, which took some of her burden off, and it was a pleasant sensation. Muggles had counsellors, psychologists, psychiatrists and support groups to help them sort through their feelings and traumas, not so in the wizarding world. Big mistake, especially after a war. 

     Ginny had listened from a short distance. After a few minutes she approached Hermione, placed her elbows on the counter and held her chin with her hands. She looked directly into Hermione’s brown eyes. “You should tell Harry just what you told me and I have to say it again ... Sorry, Hermione, I’m truly, deeply sorry for what my brother did and for what we didn’t do.”

    “And I wish we could have a conversation without the word sorry coming up so bloody often,” said Hermione pretending to be crossed. She walked to the back of the store coming out with her purse. “I’m starving and in need of some fresh air, how about it? My treat.”

     The little bell on top of the front door rang. Draco Malfoy came in with long strides, as if he owned the place. He stopped mid-way. His eyes narrowed, his contempt clearly displayed on his face.

    "What is she doing here?” His question was met with the same displeasure in Ginny’s features. Both archenemies held each other’s gaze.

    Hermione’s body reacted immediately to his presence. Her middle felt warm, her skin readied itself for his touch and her mouth watered preparing for his kiss. As soon as he left the shop on Monday, Tuesday couldn’t come fast enough. Now there he was, his face hardened by his visceral dislike of Ginny, the raging sea in his eyes darkening the grey in them. As much as she longed to be in his arms, she knew Draco was going to have what she now chose to call tantrums, much like John Albus’s.  Rather than argue back and forth she thought of the same strategy she practiced with their son: she would ignore him and go on about her routine until he settled down. Hermione came from behind the counter smiling and walking towards Draco as if she hadn’t notice his displeasure or his unpleasant, angry tone.

    His eyes roamed Hermione’s body hungrily. There she was, wearing a shirt so tight her small rounded breasts were threatening to burst out into the open and that bloody small skirt hugging her hips revealing a body he has claimed as his many times,  and it increased his body temperature a few degrees. The bulging presence between his thighs distracted him for a second and immediately after, Hermione’s body heat made him forget everything but his raw desire.  His witch was standing so close to him he could feel her breasts caressing his chest with the slightest of touch as she breathed. His pants were becoming more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

   With the most innocent yet sensual expression and a cat like purring voice and what pretty much looked like a smirk on her face she said to Draco, “We are going for lunch, aren’t we? I’m starving!” She touched his lips swiftly. Without waiting for an answer she walked away very slowly, hips swaying and opened the front door.

    Draco swallowed with difficulty. “You’re not going anywhere.” He ordered her in a raspy voice. 

    Hermione was out the door but before she closed it behind her she said, “Too bad you’re not coming, I was planning on having dessert, you know, just you and I.” She nodded to the back of the shop. “Sitting comfortably on the couch. Ginny has to go back soon and I thought...  oh well, we can always chat in between customers. Could you please put the Closed sign up when we leave? Don’t want you to be disturbed while we are out. Coming, Ginny?”

   Ginny almost ran out the door, avoiding looking back at Draco. Rain was now reduced to a few intermittent drops and the sun threatened to come out from behind the dark, grey sky. For a few seconds they walked side by side until Ginny couldn’t hold it any longer. “What in the world was that!” Ginny demanded with the biggest grin on her face and glee on her eyes.

    Hermione’s answer was no less playful and mischievous. “That, was teaching Draco Malfoy a lesson. First you eat your lunch and then you can have dessert,” she answered jokingly. "Besides, how dare he order me around? ‘You’re not going anywhere,'  like I’m a child or one of his cronies from Hogwarts!”  She finished angrily.

   “He must be about to blow up!  You may not find him at the shop when we come back, you know.” The satisfaction in Ginny voice was unmistakable. Witnessing the exchange between the couple and Draco’s utterly priceless expression was very satisfying. The ferret had met his match.

    “Like father, like son. God knows I have had the training necessary to deal with both of them!” This time it was Hermione, the mother talking. “John Albus has been trying my patience for a few months now. My son’s vocabulary has expanded but could you believe he refuses to learn the words please and thank you! He knows I want him to say them therefore he won’t. Before I open my mouth that child is ready to contradict me, just because. It has to be his way and his father is no bloody different! I have been in worse battles than this one and by God these two are not going to wear me down!” 

   “But unlike being at battle you’d get to have some mind shattering make up sex; that is an amazing plus. That couch in the back office looks very comfortable, much more comfortable than the one at your house!” Ginny’s teasing words were met with a touch of embarrassment from Hermione, who intimately hoped Draco would be waiting for her at the shop.

    He wasn’t.  He didn’t get his way so he made Hermione know what he thought about her defiance. Draco had given her his residence and mobile phone numbers (it felt weird thinking about Draco and mobile phones). If he expected that telephone to ring she wished him well. No make up sex today, and no make up sex for Draco Malfoy until she said so.


	19. <b>Chapter 19</b>

  
Author's notes:

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  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

 

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.**

 

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**Chapter 19: A Week In The Life Of Hermione Granger.  Part II**

 

Wednesday morning Hermione was greeted by more rain and by Ginny’s owl, waiting patiently by the closed window. This time her beauty sleep was cut short by only half an hour, an improvement in her opinion. Ginny had sent confirmation that Molly should stop by the shop around five o’clock and that her letter to Harry should be in his hands by now. Apparently he had decided to go back to Godric’s Hollow the night before.  Harry’s state of mind came up during their lunch on Tuesday, Hermione asking questions and listening intently much like the way she used to do during classes.  She had kept her suspicion from Ginny because it amounted to nothing more than a gut feeling and it was her hope that her meeting with Molly would help her with the decision she had made Tuesday morning. 

 

Today she would face Molly Weasley.  Surprisingly,  Molly’s visit didn’t worry her as much as what was going through Draco’s mind.  She missed him but she also knew him well enough to anticipate some fireworks and not of the pleasant nature. Coming to see her at the shop today might be considered a sign of weakness from his point of view.  Well,  she was not in the wrong.  He could either sulk or... attempt an apology after which Hermione was more than eager to reward him any way he deemed appropriate.

 

John Albus opened his eyes smiling at the sight of his mother.  In an instant everything around her disappeared. Nothing was wrong in her world when those beautiful eyes stared at her.  Never in  her wildest dreams did she ever think about becoming a mother and now she couldn’t conceived not being John Albus’s  Mum.  Standing by her son’s crib while he stretched and dispelled the few remnants of sleep from his body,  she brushed his hair with her fingers. She and Draco had made this wonderful, beautiful boy.  It never ceased to amaze her.  He was the best thing that ever happened to her.  John Albus lifted his arms to her,  she picked him up and let his head rest on her shoulder.  Both mother and son stood by the window welcoming the new day. 

 

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ 

 

By the time she walked into the shop it was pouring buckets. Days like this made her wish for floor to ceiling windows. She felt claustrophobic in the small, not so well-lit shop. And so she went about the business of the day.  Draco crowded her thoughts and she found herself glancing constantly towards the front door and every time the little bell made its warning sound and it wasn’t him,  her disappointment and anger increased another notch.  He obviously wasn’t coming.

 

Clarence brought her lunch close to one o’clock and kept her company for a while, a gesture for which she was utterly grateful since it pushed Draco away from her thoughts, even if it was for only a short period of time.   She kept herself busy with nothing in particular,  happy when the door bell rang the few times it did, welcoming the distraction.  As five o’clock neared her heart started to bit faster. Soon Molly would cross the threshold of The Last Page bringing back with her a past Hermione buried deep within her. 

 

There was not going back now. She was committed. The door opened as if on cue. Ginny came in first, wand in hand, ready to dry herself once out of sight from Muggles.  Her freckled face venturing a timid smile. Molly hesitated before gathering the courage and exhilarating anticipation she felt seconds before Ginny stepped in.

 

The youngest of the witches moved to the one side, making room for her mother. The sounds of the street and the rain came through cutting into the heavy silence reigning inside the shop.   Molly closed the door behind her and faced Hermione who was staring at her with an expression filled with many emotions Molly recognized as the same ones she was feeling.

 

Hermione was the first to speak. “Mrs. Weasley...”   Molly took her in her arms interrupting her.  At first, Hermione stood motionless, arms by her side, eyes closed.  Pictures flashed in her head, like a slide show.  As the memories danced and stayed with her,  Hermione’s features soften and her arms found themselves returning Molly’s embrace. Happy, sad, silent tears streamed down both women’s faces.

 

Molly took Hermione’s face in her hands. Her eyes sparkled with tears giving the impression of a deep blue calm sea on a bright sunny day. Her gaze was filled with tenderness.

 

“Let me look at you.”  Molly stepped back and took Hermione’s hands.  “Motherhood suits you, dear. You look beautiful!”

 

“And you haven’t changed, Mrs. Weasley.”  There were a few more wrinkles around her eyes, sad ones. Fred’s absence the most likely reason for the touch of sadness Hermione saw lurking in the Weasley matron’s gaze. Ginny had done a good job choosing Muggle clothes for her Mum, who could easily blend in with St. Aidan’s Social Committee.

 

Hermione pivoted on her heels and addressed Ginny; her bossy tone caused Molly to smile. “Ginny, there won’t be any customers coming in. If they do, they are just looking for shelter from the rain. People are rushing home, specially in a day like this. We’ll be at the pub three doors down. If you’d rather not deal with customers the Be Right Back sign would do.”  She finished with her instructions and directed her last words to Molly while gently disengaging her hands. “I’ll get my wallet, Mrs. Weasley, be right back.”

 

As soon as Hermione was out sight Ginny put her arms around Molly’s shoulders and gave her mum a reassuring smile. “Speak from the heart, Mum. Don’t leave anything out. And for Merlin’s sake let her put in a word or two, okay?”  she whispered.

 

The pub was bursting at the seams but not so the restaurant beside it.  Molly followed Hermione to the back of the family restaurant marvelling at most of what she saw.  Hermione ordered tea for both of them. The fascination and awe on Molly’s face reminded Hermione of Ginny’s unlimited curiosity and marvel at the fair. 

 

Molly pinked a little as her attention returned to Hermione. “Forgive me, Hermione, I have been with Muggles and on occasion ventured into Muggle London but not like this, not that many.”  Molly’s excitement and nervousness were evident in her trembling tone.  "It’s ... marvellous and so ...” 

 

Hermione interjected smiling, “Frightening at the same time. I felt the same about the wizarding world,  although I was eager and couldn’t wait to be part of it.”

 

Molly said nothing;  instead,  she stared into Hermione’s eyes. Guilt replaced awe as soon as Hermione’s words reached her ears.  “Hermione ... I ... There is so much I want to tell you.  It has taken three years; it should have taken much less.  I should have ...” 

 

Molly’s voice was faltering. In order to stop the trembling in her hands she held them together in a tight grasp. “Mrs.  Weasley ...”  Hermione interrupted her because she couldn’t stand Molly’s mortification.

 

“Please, dear. You deserve to hear this and I need ... I always thought I should have ...”  She stopped when Hermione placed both her hands on hers and tightened her grip. Her tone as she continued was calmer. “Learning about you and Draco left us ... oh my dear! I was shocked, I refused to believe it. Of all people you chose Draco Malfoy over my Ron. I was angry, I won’t lie to you. I watched Ron spiral down and I blamed you for it. As time went on his hatred and obsession with revenge made me question my feelings and his, and then Arthur gave me those parchments with your testimony at the trial. Since then, Hermione, you’ve never left my mind and my remorse for what we’ve done to you ... After all these years, all you’ve gone through … What can I do or say other than sorry? Forgive me, dear, from the bottom of my heart, forgive me. You didn't deserve the insults and humiliations he put you through. I should have send a letter to The Prophet the minute those vicious articles came out. I ...”

 

Hermione’s voice was stern.  “It was Ron’s, Harry’s and Ginny’s actions and not yours, Mrs.  Weasley.  They owned them, not you. You did what we mothers do. You stood by your son. Your anger towards the woman who broke his heart doesn’t need an apology. You lost a son and close friends in the war.  I can’t imagine having to get up everyday and go on with my life without my son but you had to because you are a mother and a wife and they needed you. No, Mrs. Weasley,  don’t ever apologize for loving your family.  Why would I expect you to choose me over your son?”

 

“But it wasn’t about that, Hermione, it was about justice. Don’t you understand who you are? What you did for Harry and Ron?”  Molly asked with passion and admiration.  Hermione had no answer.

 

“You are the rock upon which Harry Potter stood and leaned on for seven years. Immovable, strong, solid on the ground, that’s what your friendship to Harry and your commitment to the defeat of Voldemort means to the rest of us. Whatever was happening between you two, your role in the fight against Voldemort and the many times you risked your life for Ron and Harry should have never been forgotten,”  Molly declared with absolute conviction in her voice.

 

“Compared to what Harry went through or your loss, my contribution doesn’t even come close. I was a friend, that’s all,” Hermione said feeling uncomfortable.

 

“A friend like no other. There is place for you in our world, Hermione. For you and John Albus.”  Molly paused. “And Draco,” she concluded almost not believing that Draco was now part of Hermione’s life.

 

Hermione took a sip of tea and bit into one of the pastries she had ordered.  Molly followed suit. There was much more she wished to say. One more thing, just one more.  “Have you considered our invitation?”  Molly asked and almost regretted it as she glanced at Hermione’s face.  “The three of you would be welcome with open arms. It’s so quiet at The Burrow! I missed the chatter, the constant activity, the little ones running around...” 

 

Hermione understood what the last phrase implied. She opened her wallet, took a picture out and handed it to Molly. “John Albus. He has changed little since we took this picture. Keep it if you want to.”

 

It wasn’t a moving picture, and it took a while for Molly to appreciate it. John Albus sat on the floor at home, holding his beloved dinosaur, smiling. “He is beautiful! These are your curls and those are Draco’s eyes. Congratulations, your parents must be so proud!  If  only Albus could see him ...” she murmured not able to continue.

 

“He was a great man; I wanted to honour his memory. Although the way my son is behaving lately I wonder if it was the right thing to do.”  Hermione and Molly exchanged glances and smiled.

 

“He is trying your patience every chance he gets. You say right, he says left, you say up, he says down. There are times when you’re at the end of your rope and then ... he calls you Mummy and puts his little arms around your neck,  it’s almost magical.”  A pool of unshed tears lingered in Molly's eyes as she spoke.  She missed her son so much!  Both held each other’s hands;  one seeking comfort, the other giving it. No words were spoken.

 

Hermione provided a small handkerchief and broke the silence. “Mrs. Weasley, how is Harry doing?” Ginny had given her an account of what she had seen at both Grimmauld Place and Godric’s Hollow and of Harry’s reaction at his parents’ house. But Ginny, ever the optimist, although worried about her boyfriend, was dismissing a few details which Harry’s letter made very clear. Molly and Arthur had a keen sense of observation, much like her father, and Harry’s odd behaviour couldn’t have gone on unnoticed.

 

“Harry, is ... hmm ... taking time off the hero business.” Molly was choosing her words carefully. Arthur came across a few findings of his own and they both decided to keep an eye on Harry from a distance, without intruding. Unlike Ron who wasn’t capable of governing his feelings and emotions, Harry chose which parts of his heart he wore on his sleeve.  And because of their experience with Ron their confidence as parents had eroded somewhat, therefore they were not sure what to do or how to approach Harry. “The war has left him, well, you know, you were there ... you know what he’s like ... he keeps his thoughts to himself.”

 

“Mrs.  Weasley,  he is not doing well at all.”  There was urgency in her voice. “You need to find him today and bring him back to The Burrow.”

 

Molly examined Hermione closely. “Hermione … is there something you are not telling me?” she asked concerned.

 

“Did Ginny mention anything at all after coming with Harry from Godric’s Hollow?  Just describe for me his behaviour on Monday, don’t leave anything out.”  She waited patiently for Molly’s answer.

  

“Well, he came home somewhat ... I guess he had forgotten his shoes ... and his clothes were in need of a good washing. His trousers were muddy, stained. His T-shirt as well. He had been flying and got lost for a while ... that's what Ginny said. He was hungry, that was odd, he tends to eat very little. He was quiet cheerful, chatty. He insisted in helping me with the kitchen and ...”  She paused, her eyes suddenly widened in dismay. “He say goodbye and thanked me for everything; he said goodbye not goodnight ...”

 

“He didn’t spend the night at your place?” asked Hermione. She knew he hadn’t, but his behaviour in front of the elder Weasleys contradicted the mood in his letter so she needed Molly’s version.

 

“He did, at least that’s was the plan. Ginny and Harry were talking about going to back to Godric’s Hollow and Grimmauld Place, the next morning. Arthur and I went to bed early. They were still talking downstairs when we turned in. He must have left early on Tuesday, I’m not sure. Hermione ... you need to tell me what you know,” beseeched Molly, worry lining her brow.

 

“You need to Apparate with Ginny at Godric’s Hollow, use whatever excuse but bring him back to The Burrow. He is leaving, running away or worse. I’m not sure; I just hope you are not too late.”  Hermione was certain now. She had read a little about stress related trauma ever since Ginny’s comments at the fair. Harry’s symptoms were too obvious. He had been living in hell for most of his life, in fact he didn’t know how to live otherwise. Then that very traumatic, climatic last year and then, it stopped, it was finished. He wasn’t running or avoiding getting killed. Voldemort was gone but so was part of Harry.  If anything happened to him ...

 

The chair almost fell as she quickly stood up. She took some money and placed on the table. Molly sprang up just as fast, walking in haste behind Hermione.  Ginny was talking to a customer as Hermione and Molly burst into the store. The look in their faces stopped the smile about to appear on her face. Before she could utter a word, Hermione had ushered the woman out with her apologies, citing a family emergency and put the Closed sign up, pulling the shutters down.

 

“Don’t ask, Ginny, just go with your Mum, quickly!” she commanded her friend.

 

Ginny dislodged her arm from Molly’s grip. “What’s going on? I’m not moving until you two tell me what’s happened!”

 

“Harry. It's Harry, dear. He is not well, we need to go and get him. No time, let’s go.” Molly grabbed Ginny by the arm but the young witch was cemented on the ground.

 

“Harry is not well, I know, but you saw him on Monday. He was ...” She turned to Hemione. “Hermione, tell me!” Ginny almost begged her.

 

“The letter he wrote to me. He is saying goodbye Ginny, he said goodbye to your mother. I’m certain he is ...” Ginny wasn’t listening anymore. Hermione found her pleading eyes centimetres from her face and her hands tight around her arms.

 

“You need to come with me, he’ll listen to you. Don’t you see?  That letter ... he knew you would read between the lines. Why the hell did you keep this from me, Hermione!” Ginny sounded desperate.

 

“Ginny, she is telling you now, let’s go,” Molly insisted.

 

“Hermione, please.” Ginny’s eyes shone with her tears.

 

Hermione could almost hear her heart thumping wildly on her chest. Cold sweet was forming on her brow and her hands were clammy. She was torn between the inexplicable terror of going back and her deep concern for Harry. Her plan was not working. What couldn’t Ginny go? She was the girlfriend. She wouldn’t be alone anyway, her Mum would go with her.

 

As if reading her mind Ginny answered her question. “I’m the girlfriend, a lousy one at that,”  she said guiltily.  “He is not going to listen to Mum or to me.  I don’t think he is going to listen to anyone but you. Hermione, I thought I had reached him; you've got to help me. I’m begging you, please come with me.”

 

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. Harry might have run out of time. “Mrs. Weasley,  go back to The Burrow, if possible have a  sleeping potion ready and have your wand close to you, just in case. I’ll call Mum and tell her I’ll be a bit late.” Once Hermione made her decision, acting upon it was easier. Her only concern was Harry and whether or not it was too late.

 

Two Pops resonated in the now empty shop. Thunder and lightning painted silhouettes on the walls. It was a miserable night.

 

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Why Godric’s Hollow?  Another gut feeling.  Hermione glanced around; nothing had changed. Her stomach wasn’t quiet settled yet  and some dizziness still lingered after  side-Apparating.  Slowly she lifted her head up; the Potters’ home, decrepit and in ruins welcomed her back.  Ginny had her wand at the ready; Hermione insisted that it should be so.  The curtains were drawn again. Harry had been back; whether or not he was still inside was another matter. Both witches exchanged glances.  Hermione put her finger on her lips instructing Ginny to keep quiet. Ginny, on the other hand, motioned Hermione to go in first. Hermione produced a Muggle device which illuminated their path. Its light was soft and blue, better than the bright light a wand would produce. For a moment Ginny looked at the tiny something in her friend’s hand in amazement. Hermione was farther ahead, almost at the stairs leading to the second floor; Ginny quickened her pace.

 

They were about to go into the living room when a faint, almost inaudible sound made them turn their attention to the second floor. Was it an animal, was it Harry? Only one way to find out. The top floor’s roof was almost gone and some steps leading upstairs were missing, all the result of Voldemort’s murderous visit to the Potters. A few drops of water sprinkled their faces as they made their way up. Once again, Hermione followed her instincts. She remembered where Harry’s nursery used to be and turned left, almost levitating as she walked ever so quietly. Her hand prompted Ginny to suddenly stop.  Hermione nodded, confirming that yes, Harry was there. He was on the floor, leaning against the wall.

 

After what for both must have felt like minutes and not seconds Hermione’s voice cascaded through the house. “Harry?” All of her was shaking, including her voice. “It’s me, Hermione.”

 

She could see his body tense and his left hand tighten into a fist; he was clutching his wand. “Harry, it’s me Hermione. I ... I wasn’t sure you had received my letter; I didn’t get your answer. I ... may I come in?”  She was already inside and with a quick wave of her hand signalled Ginny to go to one side of the door so she wouldn’t be seen by Harry. She needed to face him alone, even if Ginny was less than two metres  away.

 

Harry held his wand in one hand and in the other a bottle of Firewhisky. Empty bottles were scattered on the floor. How many? A dozen at least. He couldn’t have ingested that much alcohol and be alive, could he?  Hermione took two more steps, Harry didn’t react. Too drunk maybe or too sick from the excess of alcohol. She closed the gap separating them and kneeled down. She lifted his chin up, glazed eyes looked at her or through her, Hermione couldn’t be sure.

 

“I told mum and dad I was coming, they must be waiting ...” He slurred his words and his eyes were filled with tears. “I can’t not even do that, go to the other side. They all did and left me behind, forgotten.  THEY FORGOT ABOUT ME!”  

 

He stood up, controlling his balance somehow, still clinging to the bottle of Firewhiskey. Hermione sprinted up and kicked the forgotten wand on the floor out the door and with a cautioning gaze stopped Ginny from coming in. Harry tilted the bottle and threw it against the wall; it was empty.

 

“Harry, how much alcohol...” 

 

“I want to go now, I’m ready. I’m so tired. Mum and Dad ...” Harry said, ignoring her.

 

“What about Ginny? She loves you, Harry. What about me?” she asked quietly, controlling her fear and anxiety.

 

Harry strained his eyes,  attempting to focus on the voice in his dream. It had a body. His tone was bitter when he recognized who it was. “You left me, Hermione. Ron too. I didn’t know what to do. YOU LEFT ME!” 

 

Then he let himself drop to the floor. His legs were spread wide open, and he was swaying from side to side. Harry pulled the picture of Hermione, him and Ron from the back pocket of his pants. He was in a trance-like state, directing his words at the picture he was stroking tenderly.  “I...I’m sorry, Hermione, you have no idea how sorry I am. I miss you so much! Nothing was ever the same without you. I should’ve have put a stop to it. I don’t know what to do, why ... What kind of friend allows another friend to ... Hero Bloody Potter, what a joke! Ginny is moving on too. I can’t lose her.  I can’t ...”  His sobs pierced the sky above him;  he was crying so hard he was barely able to breathe. 

 

Ginny rushed in and found Hermione kneeling beside him and much like Ginny did two days ago; the ever faithful friend held Harry in her arms. “I’m here, Harry, everything is going to be fine. Oh Harry! What you must have gone through!”  Her silent tears washed all resentment and anger from her soul. Revenge never crossed her mind all those years apart.  _'I didn’t want this, Harry, no matter how much you hurt me, not this ... not this hell you are going through.'_

 

Ginny’s silence was one of despair. Her tears ran down her face with remorse and contempt towards herself. She didn’t see it. She had failed Harry, again. Why the charade? Why couldn’t Harry tell her? Why wouldn’t he?  

 

“Ginny?”  Hermione prompted.  Harry was calmer, almost asleep, curled up on the floor resting his head on Hermione’s lap. “Take him home. Let him sleep it off. I doubt he’ll remember any of this. Don’t leave him alone and don’t let him come back here or Grimmauld Place. He needs to talk about this with you and you have to tell him everything you have bottled up inside you.” Hermione paused and then warned her. “It’s going to take time, Ginny. Don’t push him. Don’t go too fast; don’t expect it to be resolved right away.  I told you before ... I just never imagined...”  She sighed overwhelmed by all of it.

 

It was Ginny who was sobbing now. “How could I’ve been so bloody stupid, so naive! Look at him, he is a mess, he’s been a mess for how long? Years, months?  I’m not good for him. I let him down. He was so cheerful the other night! We talked about my future examinations; he even offered to help! I ... how could I miss it!”

 

Hermione stared at both her friends. Months after coming back to England she found a support group for people suffering from stress related disorders. She figured her nightmares were getting out of control and that after all she had fought in a war. She shared her feelings and fears avoiding any comments about the wizarding world.  It was difficult but she managed. Mostly she listened and discovered, barring the obvious dissimilarities, that she did have more in common with the Muggles in her group than she expected. Fear, anger, anxiety, self loathing, sense of betrayal, love, hate were all feelings shared by Muggles and wizards alike.  It made her wonder about all those who participated and suffered in the war against Voldemort’s forces. 

 

She received love and support from her parents, she was able to express some of her feelings amongst people who empathized with her, who felt some of what she felt;  all of it supervised by a qualified professional. But her friends from school? The many families traumatized by Voldemort and his followers? What if having a loving, supportive family wasn’t enough?  How about Ginny?  Her relationship with Harry was short-lived. Harry put it on hold to protect her and yet, while Hermione, Harry and Ron were braving the elements hunting for Horcruxes and hiding from  Death Eaters, Ginny had to go back to Hogwarts and found herself engaged in an underground battle right on school grounds. All the while wondering and worrying about her brother Ron, her friend and Harry. To make matters worse, at the end of it all, Ginny had to bury one of her brothers.  And Draco?  Alone after the war. Ostracized by all, even his own. What was it like for him in Azkaban, sharing that nightmare with his mother a few floors below him? He refused to talk about it with her. Hermione knew better than to push him. She sighed again. What could she do?

 

“Go home, Ginny. I need to go home, too. Tomorrow, tell Harry I want to see him. Tell him it's not a request. If he offers any kind of resistance do whatever you need to do but bring him to the shop. Right now it's the only place I can think of. You can help with customers while Harry and I talk in the office.” She surveyed their surroundings. It was a sorry sight. In spite of the veil of darkness wrapped around them she could imagine what transpired in that nursery all those years ago.  Her attention returned to Ginny. “Get your Mum to take Harry to The Burrow. I need to catch a ride with you back home,” she said trying to lighten the mood a bit with her comment. It didn’t work.

 

“I’ll be right back.” Ginny said sounding defeated.

 

Hermione took her hand. “Ginny, tomorrow will be another day. Don’t go down that way, Ginny, don’t blame yourself.  We’ll talk some more tomorrow, we’ll talk and talk and talk  for as long as we all need to. Now, go home, get your Mum. I really need to go.”

 

Ginny let go of her hand without saying a word and Disapparated. In minutes Molly was holding on to Harry, managing to give Hermione a heartfelt hug. “Keep in touch, will you?”

 

“I will. Goodnight.” Hermione was eager to leave, anxiety slowly monopolizing her feelings.

 

Ginny and Hermione  side-Apparated at a secluded spot close to Hermione’s house. Their mood was sombre. “I’ll be at the shop around nine. Harry will sleep longer than that. Lunch time would be best. If not just drop by any time and, Ginny ... rest, take a Sleeping Potion if you need to. Promise?” Hermione risked an almost invisible smile.

 

“I promise.” Ginny put her arms around Hermione. “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. I know this must have been hard for you. You have no idea what it means to me that you ...”

 

“Tomorrow, Ginny. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She glanced back at her home. She wanted so much to hold John Albus in her arms!

 

“Tomorrow.”  Ginny  repeated as if the word held some hidden restorative power.  Hermione watched her walk slowly back home.

 

• ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ • ∞ •

 

She thought she was a morning person, not today. Thursday was upon Hermione too fast. Didn’t she just drop exhausted on her bed?  Did she actually side-Apparate   -she shivered thinking of that ungodly sensation in the pit of her stomach-  at Godric’s Hollow?  Worst of all were the anxiety and terror racing through her mind and heart as she landed at Godric’s Hollow.  It wasn’t as bad as she expected. Tomorrow might be different. She grumbled under her covers. Must birds be so bloody noisy and cheerful this early in the morning?  Six thirty. The sight of the sleeping blonde baby sweetened her sour mood. 

 

It also reminded her of his father. Back to her moody morning self again. It was odd but, she actually wished Draco were with her during her little adventure yesterday. Two days, almost, without his kisses. Stubborn, arrogant man! Punishing him meant she had to live without ... well, if he was as miserable as she was, and he better be, then being miserable together wasn’t so bad. _‘Wonder what he does when he is not with me or working'_

 

The sun was peeking through the window.  She told her parents a half truth about her delay coming home. Ginny came for a visit late in the afternoon,  not much time to chat until closing time and that’s why Hermione took a little longer than usual. No questions or comments from her parents. She spent more time than usual with John Albus, paying extra attention to his words, his gestures, not rushing at all their night routine. She even let him fall asleep on her bed, longing for Draco to be on the other side sharing her bed and maybe after ...

 

Her thoughts travelled back to Harry. She was not a physician or an expert in stress related traumas other than the insight she gathered from her own experience and a few meetings with the support group. And it was where she’d start; she’d made a call to her counsellor. She also had some ideas, which hopefully she could implement with Harry right away. Thursday had to be better than Wednesday! Harry was safely back at The Burrow and she would see him in a few hours sober and with a much clearer mind. Draco would come, in a better, apologetic mood and then she would be back in his arms. The sun was out, the rain was gone. Mid-June, almost Summer. Thursday had to be better than Wednesday and Tuesday!

 

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So far so good. A few phone calls,  two customers to deal with and no visitors and it was eleven o’clock!  The silence and the sunlight coming through soothed her.  Mr. Lynch would come by around closing time and a new order of science fiction novels was due later. New books and customers came in tandem. It never failed. As soon as she opened the box with its new batch, the bell rang and what should take her no more than an hour ended up a three hour task.

 

Hermione proceeded to organize the receipts from the day before. In her rush to get to Harry she had left the cash register with more money in it that Mr. Lynch allowed. To her relief it wasn’t a large amount. She would make sure she deposited yesterday’s and today’s money after work. It wasn’t like her to overlook something as important as money she was entrusted with.

 

Two hands sneaked from behind, rounding her waist startling her so much her first impulse was to turn around and aim for the assailant. Her knee missed its mark as Draco swayed to one side and her fist was caught in midair by his hand.  “I see your reflexes are in good shape,” he said displaying his famous smirk. 

 

Hermione was furious. “WHAT IN HELL ARE YOU DOING SNEAKING ON ME LIKE THAT!   FRONT DOOR TOO SMALL FOR YOUR STUPID EGO?”  She pushed him to the back wall and walked to the other side of the counter, throwing knifes at him with her gaze. 

 

“Ouch!” He rubbed his back. He jumped over the counter but Hermione was too quick for him. “What do you want me to say? Sorry? Okay sorry.” He smiled and started walking towards Hermione.

 

She in turn was walking backwards away from him. “About what?”  She asked.

 

“About  what?” He asked sheepishly, the smirk never leaving his face.

 

“Sorry, Draco, what are you sorry about,” she responded glancing quickly around. The front door was getting closer and so was Draco. He had to apologize for ordering her around and leaving on Tuesday, for not coming back on Wednesday and for frightening her to death just minutes ago. All of it!

 

“I didn’t mean to scare you, sorry” He was enjoying this. Just a few more metres.

 

“And?” She insisted. 

 

“What else do you want me to say?” he asked in his most innocent, taunting voice.

 

_‘No more games, Mr Malfoy.'_ “Last chance, Draco,” she cautioned him.

 

 ' _Damn her! Damn all the Weasels! Damn, damn and more damn!'_ “Would you rather I’d leave again?”  he threatened. 

 

“You leave at your own risk, sir. I guess it means Hogsmeade and supper at my parents is cancelled until further notice. I don’t think I need to expand on what other activities shall be cancelled as well. It’s all fine with me,” she said.

 

“I ... Merlin, Hermione! I don’t have to like them; I don’t want to. They hurt and humiliated you. Because of them you ... You chose that Weasel over me again! You made me look like a fool in front of that ...”  He couldn’t complete the sentence.

 

“Watch your language, Draco. She is my friend.”  Her voice was softer, almost conciliatory. She sensed capitulation.

 

He missed it, too irritated to notice. “Merlin, Hermione, aren’t you listening!”

 

“I’m listening but not hearing what I want to hear.”  She smiled wickedly. “Is such a small word and it can accomplish so much. Not only that, it’s so good for the soul.” She finished teasingly.

 

“Hermione I’m serious. They hurt you in the past, they’ll hurt you again. They don’t deserve a second chance! I know I should have stayed and waited for you and yesterday ... I ...” He was interrupted again.

 

Hermione launched herself at him and bend his head towards her. Her opened mouth took his. For a moment Draco wasn’t sure what was happening until his lips were parted by her prying, skillful tongue. He smiled in her mouth as he returned her kiss. Just as one of his hands started to climb up under her shirt, Hermione pulled away from him. Her arms were around his neck, her eyes tinted with desire she was controlling, barely. She was not done with him yet. “Was that so hard? Anything else to add?”

 

“Merlin, Hermione! Bloody flaming Merlin! What more do you want?”  He asked releasing his grip, rubbing his hand against his nape in frustration.  He leaned against the bookshelf. His smirk was gone replaced by an almost angry frown. No other person on Earth, not even his mother had the power to transform him into a ... blabbering idiot, so much in love it made him do and say...

 

“I was out of line ...”  He couldn’t believe it, he was apologizing! It annoyed him.  “I asked you...”

 

“You didn’t ask,”  she corrected him.

 

He cursed under his breath.  “I ordered you to stay, maybe I should...”

 

“Maybe?” She persisted. He cursed even louder. His nails were digging into the palms on his fisted hands which he hid in his front pockets.

 

“I should have asked you, not order you around.”  He recited the words reluctantly, like a small child when he says  ‘sorry’, just to get it over with it. 

 

Hermione sensed his stubbornness and lack of sincerity. “You don’t mean it, Draco. You really don’t get it, do you?” she asked disappointed.

 

She walked back to her receipts. Her vision was blurred as tears gathered in her eyes. It was silly of her to cry. Draco was who he was, he would never change, not even a little and yet, she loved him. The silence surrounding the shop was deafening, and the sound of tears falling on paper tugged at Draco’s heart. He had gone too far. 

 

Draco followed Hermione’s path and made his way to the back of the counter taking Hermione by the shoulders lifting her chin up. He took her face with both hands and started kissing her cheeks dampened with tears and then he wrapped his arms around her in a tender embrace closing his eyes. His heart ached for the pain he inflicted on her. Not anger nor arrogance or deviousness dominated his thoughts. Love claimed his soul, his heart and his mind. The woman in his arms loved Draco Malfoy. Loved him at his worst, and how was that even possible?  He’d made her cry so many times because of his arrogance and intransigence; he had taken for granted Hermione would be at his side always.

 

One day all his mind games and his stubbornness would find him alone, without her, without his son. Merlin’s beard! There he was admitting he was not perfect after all. Not in a million years, not until Hermione Granger, had Draco been capable of such a feat.  How could he not love her when she was willing to peal painstakingly layer after layer of Malfoys’ poisoned upbringing when it hurt her more times than it was worth the trouble? A blind man, after regaining his sight and witnessing the beauty of the world around him, would he choose to go back to the darkness?  Such man would die before relinquishing such privilege. Without Hermione, Draco would go blind again. 

 

Draco relaxed his embrace. “Look at me. Hermione, please look at me.”  A few tears clouded her eyes as Hermione lifted her gaze. His eyes hid nothing from her. He knew what she wanted and this time Draco was giving it willingly, intending every word.  “I apologize for behaving like a prat on Tuesday and using that most annoying tone to order you around like I would a house-elf. I should ask, request, suggest, treat you like my most precious treasure.  I apologize for ... Wednesday. I wanted to teach you a lesson; it was childish of me. I’m sorry. There’s so much rubbish inside me, the fact that you love me is a miracle.  I love you, Hermione Granger, I’d be lost without you. Forgive me.” 

 

Her lips curved into a wary smile; not so her eyes which burst into what could only be described as laughter. Draco’s face closed in and stopped millimetres from her mouth. He grinned as Hermione gave him permission and closed the gap allowing Draco to take possession of her mouth.

      

It was almost poetic when his lips touched hers. Draco tasted every part of her mouth starting with her lips, tracing them with his tongue, first the upper lip then below. He parted her lips delicately, oh so slowly, his tongue insinuating itself, teasing her. There was no rush in him. It was a long, sensual kiss. Their lips parted, both keeping their arms around each other. “Thank you,” she said softly, mesmerized by what just happened to her mouth.  “Those words are the nicest gift you could have ever given me.”

 

“You are welcome.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “I missed you ... you have no idea how much.” They held each other for while. Hermione nestled against his chest savouring her little victory, one more small layer pealed away. He cleared his throat, his tone hesitant as he said.  “Hmm ... Hermione ... would it be wrong if we...” Hermione lifted her face and follow his gaze. He glanced to the back office.

 

“Go out for lunch? Maybe have a snogging session after? If no customers interfere that is,”  she asked, knowing very well that it was not what Draco had in mind.  _‘Am I out of my mind! Snogging at work, again!_ '   Her inner voice was drowned by Draco’s high pitch voice.

 

“Lunch!”  No, lunch could wait. His hunger was of another nature and snogging? Absolutely out of the question. He was pleading now.  “Hermione, it’s been four days!”

 

She took Draco by the hand and led him to the back office and prompted him to sit beside her on the very comfortable couch Mr. Lynch had purchased to take his afternoon nap during slow days. Before Draco launched at her, Hermione stopped him placing her hands on his chest. He looked at her befuddled. He had seen that expression before, she wanted to talk!

 

“Draco, Ginny and Harry are coming over some time today and before you say anything which you might regret,”  she warned him and then continued. “You need to get over this. I’m well aware there is a history between your family and the Weasleys and with Harry, and that ... what happened three years ago is not making it any easier for you to accept them. Ginny and Harry are my friends and I’m trying to mend fences with  the Weasleys with the exception of that imbecile, amoeba-brain Ron Weasley, of course.” 

 

Draco grinned in agreement at the last statement. Hermione went on. “Ginny is having as hard a time with our relationship as you are having with mine and hers but she realized how much in love we are, and it’s all that matters to her. Yesterday, Molly Weasley came over. We talked and it felt right welcoming her back in my life. That’s not to say I’m going back, it just means ... Oh Draco! You know how much I missed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.  If you could have seen her face when I gave her John Albus’s picture!”  She paused to bit into her lower lip. Her hesitation made it obvious to Draco Hermione had something extra in store for him and he wasn’t going to like it.  “We, you, John Albus and I, are invited over for tea at The Burrow ...”

 

He was right, he detested it.  “What! I’m not ...  you can possibly be asking me to …”  He was standing,  strands of his long blonde hair covering part of his face. He ran his fingers through it in desperation while staring at Hermione in disbelief. Hermione stayed seated and waited patiently for his rant and venting to run its course. “I won’t, I can’t ... I mean. Tea! Like we are the best of friends! Me, Draco Malfoy having tea with the Weasleys! It’s not going to happen.  No, you can’t force me to ... I ... I won’t ... I’d rather die! I’m absolutely, positively...”  He ran out of words. 

 

“Finished?”  Hermione asked between amused and annoyed. Much like when John Albus had one of his outbursts.

 

Draco closed his mouth. Hermione sighed and lifted herself from the couch. She laced her fingers with his and locked her gaze in his eyes. How much like their son’s. Blue like a summer’s sky and grey as the thunderous firmament. If she kissed him now ... She blinked rapidly and came out of her trance.

 

“First of all, I have not accepted the invitation, yet, and when and if I do, I’d understand if you’d rather John and I go without you. All I ask of you is that you keep an open mind. It's not about choosing Ginny or Harry or the rest of the Weasleys, over you. They are my friends; you are the man I love and the father of my child,” she finished waiting for his answer.

 

The struggle was evident in his face. Draco searched Hermione’s gaze for some clue which would help him sort out his emotions. Her request meant a lot to her; he could read it in her eyes. “I’d keep an open mind, that’s all, no more. No tea, not anything of the sort. An open mind ...”  He felt like he just ingested the most disgusting potion he ever tasted in his life.

 

“That’s all I ask.”  A merry glint lit up her eyes. She patted the couch by her side. He sat beside her expecting more unpleasant news. He was wrong. “I’m going against everything I’m trying to teach your son. I’ll bend the rules just this once because you have been such a good boy.”  Hermione was climbing on top of Draco, pinning his shoulders down. “How about some dessert before lunch? I think you’ve earned it.” In an instant their mouths found each other. 

 

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The frown in Draco’s face was precious. Their snogging session was rudely interrupted first by the telephone and seconds later by the sound of the bell. He pleaded with Hermione to ignore both but that bloody Gryffindor sense of duty prevailed. Hermione shook her head in disbelief as the last customer left. What was happening to her! What if Ginny and Harry walked in or worse, Mr. Lynch!  Forget about that, snogging at work! At work! Closing her eyes Hermione summoned every ounce of will power before she pivoted on her heels and faced Draco. Her whole body reacted immediately.  Draco Malfoy was a drug and she was hooked.

 

Draco was leaning against the door frame of the back office. Aside from the frustration evident in his face it was clear to Hermione the wheels in his brain were turning. If he was thinking about what she was thinking they’d better get out. Fresh air would clear their minds. She had her sandwich and Mrs. Murphy’s take out was around the corner; Draco could grab a quick lunch there.  Hermione left a note for Ginny and dragged a sulking Draco with her.

 

Draco protested when Hermione insisted in introducing him to Clarence and Serafina Murphy. Draco had been a loner ever since the end of the war.  The Malfoy name was despised by those who fought against Voldemort and by those loyal to the Dark Lord; his mother had barely recovered from her injuries when Draco and Narcissa were indicted and every so-called friend had vanished. The turmoil his mind went through should have driven him mad with desperation were it not for Hermione and his mother ... Azkaban ... Draco slammed a mental door as feelings, emotions and memories of the past threatened to overtake him; the pounding in his chest informed him he might not have been quick enough.

 

Mrs.  Murphy couldn’t have been more impressed with Draco. He was charming, very well spoken and a gentleman. He said the right things complimenting her establishment and her skillful cooking of which he could attest after tasting her wonderful soup on Monday, he smiled all the time and kissed Serafina Murphy’s hand before leaving. Whatever the reason for his long absence, and it wasn’t any of their business, Hermione looked happy and in love. Clarence, of course, wasn’t fooled by the young lad. Charming and a gentleman, ha! Hermione went through her pregnancy and the birth of her son without the blonde bastard by her side. So much for charm! A gentleman, right! He’d keep an eye on Hermione and if that Draco  -what kind of name was Draco anyway?-  hurt her again in any way...

 

On their way back to the shop Hermione stamped a kiss in Draco’s cheek.  “Thanks, Draco,”  she said leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked.  He’s made her happy today.  He kissed her curls saying nothing.  The door he so forcefully slammed a few minutes ago let some of the foul wind of his very painful past touch his soul. Azkaban was in him, lurking, waiting for the slightest opportunity to remind Draco that he was not really a free man.  But Draco was free. After holding Hermione in his arms a week ago, he’d promised himself he’d fight those feelings and he had been successful, most of the time.

 

“Aren’t you coming in?”  Hermione asked Draco, who wasn’t following her inside the shop. 

 

Draco held one of her hands avoiding her gaze.  “I’d better go. You have work to do and so do I.” He was holding both her hands now, playing with her fingers nervously. 

 

Hermione came closer and lifted her head, forcing him to look at her. His hands were cold and damp and the blue in his eyes had disappeared completely; there was only the thunderous, dark, raging sea in them. It reminded her of a pair of emerald green eyes and the conflicted emotions she saw in them.  “Stay, please. You don’t have to be at work for hours.” She forced a smile hiding her concern.

 

“I have to go. We’ll see each other tomorrow, remember?” Now it was Draco’s turn to force a smile. His kiss was barely a kiss. “Tomorrow, don’t forget.”  

 

Hermione watched Draco walked, almost run away not from her but from his past and his demons. Something was stirred inside of him. Azkaban?  Narcissa?  His mother was in Azkaban and would be for three more years. Hermione knew how much Draco loved his mother and of the agony he went through thinking about her in Azkaban, and yet by Draco’s own admission not once has he made any attempt to visit her. The few instances she inquired about his incarceration, Narcissa or the months prior to the past week, Draco avoided the subject with a kiss, a smart remark or a ‘I don’t want to talk about it’.  

 

She leaned on the door deep in thought. It was humid and hot. Her oversized pony tail required some adjustments. Almost two in the afternoon. Distractedly she flipped the Closed sign back to Open as she went inside the shop. 

 

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By the time she started wondering what was keeping Ginny and Harry, the book order arrived.  True to form so did the customers. She welcomed the distraction and for almost two hours she didn’t have time to think about nothing else. Four o’clock found Hermione sitting on her chair behind the counter with her feet up, on top of the still unpacked box of books. She dared close her eyes for a few seconds.

 

A hand on her shoulder made her jump and swear out loud. “Bloody hell!”

 

Ginny stood next to the box full of books wearing an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, Hermione ... didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

Hermione grabbed the chair laying on the floor. “Is there a problem with the front door?” she asked slightly irritated. As she glanced at Ginny’s face her demeanor changed. The young witch had bags under her eyes which were red from lack of sleep or crying. Her face was pale and her hair had been brushed hastily. Hermione was afraid to ask and thankfully Ginny anticipated her question.

 

Ginny turned her face towards the back office and said in a whisper. “He is back there.” Her eyes were welling as she continued. “He didn’t want to come. It took a lot of convincing ... It’s been a long day. I ... Hermione ...”  Ginny couldn’t go on. Silent tears streamed down her face. 

 

Quietly, Hermione reached for a box of tissues she kept underneath the counter and handed it to Ginny. While Ginny blew her nose and wiped her face Hermione glanced nervously to the opened door behind Ginny.  “Better?” she asked Ginny softly.

 

“Hardly. Ten days ago I stood in front of this shop not knowing if you would even talk to me and look at me now, look at us.  Do we have the right to ask ...”  The tone of the redheaded woman was self-deprecating and angry.  A pair of stern, about to slap her, brown eyes caught Ginny off.

 

“I’m giving you the right. You are not taking it; I’m willingly giving it to you."   Hermione returned the box of tissues back where she took it from, and with her fingers brushed her hair back into place and tightened her ponytail finishing her sentence with the bossy tone she was well known for. “I’ll be at the back; you take care of the shop.” She softened her voice.  “And, Ginny ... when I accepted your apology, I  don’t remember placing conditions. Keep that in mind.”  Hermione turned her back on Ginny and, in what felt like walking in a slow motion, she entered the back office.

 

Harry was standing in front of the back door leading to the back alley.  He was wearing a rumpled T-shirt, faded jeans and worn out trainers.  Hermione was reminded of the teenagers practicing their skateboarding skills at her neighbourhood park. His messy hair was messier than she remembered from the previous night and his eyes were fixated on the floor. His hands were in his front pockets both in a fist, probably to hide his nervousness. He was taller, leaner, broken.

      

“Hello, Harry.” Her voice made him quiver a little and the few steps she took towards him forced Harry to step back.

 

“Harry, look at me. Please,”  she asked. He had no escape when Hermione closed the gap which separated them. He was shaking and Hermione realized he was crying silently. “Oh Harry!”  He flinched when she touched him and succumbed when Hermione’s arms embraced him.

 

Harry cried quietly in his friend’s arms, holding on to her tight. His head rested on one side of her face, his cheek pressed on her temple while his tears mixed with hers. Finally, Hermione took his face in her hands. She’d seen the same rage and sorrow after Sirius’s and Dumbledore’s death; the same hatred every time Voldemort’s name escaped his lips; the same longing when his parents or Ginny came to his mind and the same regret when he tried to push his friends away. What she’s never seen before was the emptiness in his soul.

 

“I don’t know what to say.”  He made no attempt to wipe his face dampened with tears.

 

“How about  ‘Hi Hermione, good to see you again and by the way sorry about being such an asshole before’  And I’m not talking about yesterday,” she said wiping his face with one of her hands. Her eyes smiled at him.

 

“How can you be so forgiving? How can you not hate me? You ... should ... have let me ... yesterday...”  Her reaction threw him off. He was expecting an outraged Hermione not a caring, loving, teasing Hermione. 

 

“You are not telling me what to feel are you?  You tried before and we missed three whole years because of it.” She took his chin and brought his eyes back to her. Her eyes were teasing him again.

 

His fingers ran through his hair and stopped and the nape of his neck. “How can you joke like this?  Why don’t you hit me, insult me, throw me out! I ... deserve your hatred!”

 

“Why should I hate you, Harry?”  She didn’t need an apology. Not after yesterday. Harry had been punishing himself for far too long. Her question had more to do with doing away with some of what he was holding tight to his chest and in small dosages poisoned him for the past three years. Saying it out loud was only the beginning of what she considered Harry’s journey home.

 

Harry struggled as the words came out. He walked away from Hermione. His whole face transformed into cold granite while his hands became iron clad fists. “I was a coward. I knew he was going too far and I did nothing. I did nothing ...”

 

“I fell in love with the man who tried to kill Dumbledore, the same man who allowed Death Eaters into Hogwarts and the son of Death Eaters, how could you possibly accept that? I betrayed your best friend.” Was she going too far? His anger at her she could handle. On the other hand, if not now, when would Harry Potter start making peace with his past?

 

Harry’s gaze painted the conflicted feelings assaulting him. Her words mirrored his sentiments past and present. He couldn’t forgive himself for pushing Hermione away and yet, Draco and Hermione together was as hard to accept now as it was years ago,  and listening to Hermione saying the words he said to himself hundreds of times perplexed him.

 

Hermione pressed on.  “Am I wrong, Harry?  That’s exactly what you thought, isn’t it?  It is what you feel today.” 

 

“Hermione ...”  He was pacing like a caged animal, running both hands through his hair, glancing sporadically at Hermione trying to make head and tails of her behaviour and his emotions. He stopped his pacing and when his gaze met hers Hermione’s heart skipped a bit. Harry was beginning to understand. A tiny, almost invisible spark shone deep in his eyes.

 

“I can’t believe you can love someone as despicable as Draco Malfoy. The son of traitors and a traitor himself. I can’t believe you could hurt Ron like that. He loved you!  I can’t believe it nor accept it and yet ...” The harshness in his voice disappeared, instead his tone was apologetic, mournful. “I should have at least listened and trusted you. How could I’ve been so blind! Harry Potter the Hero!”  Harry let out a self condemning laugh.  “I was a fucking bloody coward! A hero ... What kind of hero stands by while his best friend is vilified the way you were?”  

 

Despair was overtaking him. He was having difficulty breathing. Hermione stood still her gaze never leaving her friend as he purged his contaminated soul. “I failed you, I betrayed you. The one time you needed me I watched ... What am I saying,  I couldn’t even look at you!  I lost my best friends, there is nothing ... Oh Merlin!”  His eyes were filling up again, his fists were white as paper. He could barely stand.

 

Hermione grabbed him by one his arms. Her eyes were determined, commanding, fixed on his, pulling Harry in, away from the dark place he crawled back to every time his painful memories and feelings overtook him. “Harry, I don’t hate you, I can’t. Until last week I thought I hadn’t forgiven you and guess what? I did long ago I just never knew it.” 

 

“But ... Hermione ... you left. I wouldn’t listen to you.”  He was pacing again.  His mind was bursting with words he couldn’t utter fast enough. His emotions were tightening around his heart. He was about to explode. “You musn’t forgive me, I don’t deserve it. You walked away ...”  As he was speaking the memory of  Ron’s  drunken performance at The Three  Broomsticks burst in his memory.  “I couldn’t make myself look at you. I saw your cape on the floor and I knew ... we’ve driven you away.  I can’t forget it, I let you go. Oh Hermione ... I feel so empty ... Inside, in here...” He pointed at his chest first and then at his head.

 

He sat on the sofa, hiding his face in his hands. Hermione sat on his left side and with her right hand took him by the shoulders. No tears this time.  “You need to forgive yourself, Harry. It’s over. I’m telling you, I don’t hate you, I never did. Listen to my voice, look at me.”  Harry shifted his face and looked into Hermione’s eyes. “I loved you and still do. You hurt me not because you didn’t accept my relationship with Draco but because you didn’t trust me. That you could think I betrayed my principles was like a slap on my face. My question is ... do you trust me now?”

 

There was no doubt in his mind. “I trust you with my life, I always did.  I feel I should atone for what I ... It was not about Malfoy, it was about us and I betrayed us.” 

 

“It is all behind us, Harry. What matters is that you are here and that you are beginning to understand. That’s all I ever wanted. It is all ask of you.” Hermione leaned back and Harry imitated her. Brown curls intermingled with black messy hair as their heads met. Two pair of legs stretched and the silence surrounding them felt like a soothing touch.

 

Ginny’s voice could be heard through the closed door.  Hermione closed her eyes and searched for Harry’s hand lacing her fingers with his. When he spoke she listened to him without opening her eyes. “What’s wrong with me, Hermione?”

 

“I don’t know, Harry. The fact that you know something is wrong is the first step.”  She sighed heavily and reluctantly opened her eyes. Their faces met. “I think talking does a world of good and if you are lucky, and you are, to have friends willing to listen that is a bonus. You have the Weasleys, Ginny ... you have me.”

 

Hermione untangled her fingers and rose up facing Harry. “Don’t you ever scare me the way you did yesterday, Harry Potter, or I swear ... Don’t you dare do that again or ... If you ask for forgiveness you have to be around to be forgiven and I haven’t said I forgive you so you can’t ... you can’t ..."  The lump on her throat did not allow her to continue.

 

Harry stood up. “I promise you it will never happen again.” Hermione believed him, the solemn expression in his eyes told her so but it also displayed hesitation. 

 

“Harry, tell me ... you can tell me,” she urged him.

 

“Would it be all right if I call you, if we meet sometime?”  He was reaching out for the first time in years.

 

Hermione hooked her arm with his and made her way back to the shop. Her whole face brightened up as she answered him. “How about we meet for tea at the Weasleys on Saturday?”


	20. <b>Chapter 20</b>

  
Author's notes:

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  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

 

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_ ** **for her support and brilliant editing.**

 

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**Chapter 20: A Week In The Life Of Hermione Granger. Part III**

 

**'Anger is just love disappointed' (From A hole in the world- The Eagles)**

 

   

    Friday was only a few hours young and Hermione Granger lay wide awake wondering whether or not the trip to Hogsmeade and her promise to Harry to meet him at The Burrow on Saturday were a good idea.  The whole week had been a test of her character.  How could she be so ... so together,  so composed after everything that had happened?  A little bit over a week since Ginny and Draco parachuted into her life and it could very well be months or a year. Only eleven days. Time... yes, _‘time heals all wounds,'_ so the saying goes.  It seemed to her that time plus distance should result in renewed strength and better perspective. She was obviously stronger than she thought;  now, having a better perspective?  Hermione wasn’t so sure. Still, shouldn’t she be going through some sort of nervous breakdown?  It puzzled her and frightened her that it wasn’t so. Harry had fallen apart right in front of her;  Ginny was having second thoughts about her relationship with Harry; Draco was acting as if the war, the trial and Azkaban never happened;  and there she was, in the middle of it all,  pulled in this and that direction while at the same time her own feelings and emotions remained unchecked.  Too fast, too much at once.

 

    On second thought she was not as in control as it seemed on Wednesday.  Panic and anxiety overwhelmed her when she was forced to go back to Godric’s Hollow.  Yes,  her concern for Harry was the primary feeling but underneath it all she had to recognize she couldn’t wait to go back to her ‘home’,  to John Albus, to her parents and to Draco because no longer did she feel safe in the wizarding world.  She had no doubt that an anxiety attack was waiting for her around the corner the minute she side-Apparated with Ginny at Godric’s Hollow.  All she could think about was Harry and getting out of there as soon as possible. Hermione had gained some insights, which confounded and scared her more than enlightened her. She was comfortable living as a Muggle but deep down she knew it was not enough because she was in love with a wizard, who she was certain had every intention of forcing her to go back to the wizarding world and, frankly, she was not ready. Hermione wasn’t sure if she would ever be ready.  There, she admitted as much.  

 

    Draco wouldn’t have any of that. Nope, Draco Malfoy had pride himself in never having to compromised or give in. That is until Hermione Granger. It was Draco, who first acknowledged their love for each other. It was he, who relentlessly tore down every argument Hermione enunciated against their relationship. Ironies of ironies if one thought about it.  He followed her to the Muggle world.  He promised to have an open mind now that Harry and Ginny were back in her life again.  He had compromised and gave in but Draco would never forget who he was and where he came from; it would test their relationship and that was why Hermione couldn’t sleep.

 

    Hermione claimed they needed to talk, catch up as it were, but she had made no real effort to do so, sending Draco the wrong message, which was that Hermione was content leaving the decision making to Draco. What had happened to her?  Since when did Hermione Granger avoid facing justified confrontation? Why this reluctance to use magic, to go back just for a visit to the wizarding world?  Why was it that she could miss using magic one second and then wish she could forget about it the next?  Why did she have to open her big mouth and agree to have tea at the Weasleys?  Why was Draco refusing to speak about those years apart? Yesterday she saw it again; she had no name for it, just a feeling that all was not well as Draco claimed. Draco, same as Harry, was dealing with his own conflicts. Draco’s whole body reacted to an image, a sound or a forgotten sensation causing him to retreat and run away from her.  Unlike Harry, who apparently had reached rock bottom, Hermione sensed Draco was hanging, barely, to his composure and self-assurance.  Pride and stubbornness were his trade marks.  

 

    A big sigh escaped her mouth.  Maybe Draco would be more open in his own environment, which shouldn’t it feel like her own environment too?  Regardless, this trip might be her best opportunity to find out about the time between Draco’s incarceration and the time he was forced to confront her.  But, talking to Draco about Draco was never easy.  Young Malfoy was taught from the womb almost, that any sign of weakness or vulnerability was unbecoming and talking about his own feelings was a big, fat No No.  Funny,  during his years at Hogwarts Draco was nothing but a coward and a whiner.  Reconciling his behaviour at Hogwarts with the way Lucius Malfoy raised his son took some time for Hermione.  Those months in hospital and after Narcissa’s discharge as well as their living together at The Leaky Cauldron had shed some light into young Malfoy’s upbringing.  His nightmares and the few times he was willing to talk about them gave Hermione another piece of the puzzle.  She ran out of time to uncovered more.   

 

    Her visceral dislike of Draco Malfoy changed when for the first time she saw Draco stripped of all appearances, his pride, his status, and everything that was dear to him.  Asking Ron why or how Draco ended up in hospital and, of all places, in the same ward as her was fruitless.  His anger and contempt impeded any intelligible  explanation other than his ranting and raving about Shacklebolt and Harry being too soft hearted and trusting.  Harry was not much help either. He did mention something about justice coming in all forms and shapes and of course that was all he ever said, refusing to expand.  Maybe she could bring the subject up with Harry on Saturday.

 

    The first weeks during Narcissa’s stay in hospital, Hermione heard what she now knew were Draco’s sobs floating through the night, like a ghost’s cries.  She didn’t know who or what it was at the beginning, in fact she was pretty sure they were part of her own nightmares as well as a product of her head injuries.  After all, it took her weeks to realize who was laying on a hospital bed four beds down from her. Eventually, curious and compelled by pity she let those muffled cries lure her like a siren’s call into none other than Narcissa’s only son  hiding behind the curtained panels giving them some privacy and probably avoiding confrontation with the rest of the patients, all victims of the final battle against Voldemort.  

 

    No one visited Narcissa, ever.  No one but her son who practically lived within the confinements of his mother’s bed.    The Malfoys were ignored by everyone. Not a nod or even a stolen glance at the bedridden wife of one of the most hated Death Eaters the wizarding world has ever known or at her son. One had only to look at both to understand why it was that the Malfoys were nothing more than a bad memory so early after the final battle. Narcissa was in a state of shock so deep she never spoke or moved.  The only sign of life she ever gave was when she was overcome by night terrors so violent her Healer had no choice but to give her a dreamless potion so powerful she would sleep for days.  And Draco,  the would-be Death Eater was but a shadow of his own self,  walking with his head down,  dragging his feet as if they were in shackles or too heavy to lift, avoiding looking at anyone, afraid of making his presence known.  

 

    Hermione listened to those sobs in silence for a few days.  Soon she found herself walking with great difficulty as a result of her injuries, and she stood close listening to Draco’s words begging his mother not to leave him, pouring his soul in whispers, afraid to be heard. But she heard him. For the first time since she met Draco he became a human being, a victim. 

 

    Every night Draco would cry himself to sleep, whispering soothing words to his mother. It was heartbreaking and it gave her food for thought.  Without thinking, one day pity won her over and Draco found himself wrapped in a blanket placed on his shoulders by a sworn enemy, the first gesture of many  Hermione and Draco shared.  She never mentioned any of it to Harry or Ron because at that moment it meant nothing more to Hermione than her generous nature taking over her actions.

 

    The rest is history and what a history!  She found love the likes of which she thought was but a myth in the arms of a hated, despised enemy.   The smartest witch of her age was but a memory. She hardly recognized herself anymore.  Hermione shook her head vigorously.  _‘Enough with this!  Get some sleep, be ready for the unexpected and pray that you have the strength to face it'._ After scolding herself Hermione glanced at John Albus’s crib.  Amidst the confusion and uncertainty her son was the one true anchor in her life, the source of all her strength and the reason why she could close her eyes smiling and fall asleep thinking of his laughter, his baby smell and the way his little body felt like every time she held him in her arms.

 

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     Another grey day, Hermione concluded as she glanced at the window.  She had managed to sleep a few hours. She definitely was not a morning person but her son was.  John Albus was wide awake greeting his mother with the sweetest of smiles.  Standing on his crib he was trying, like every morning, to climb down. His dinosaur had escaped the confinements of his owner’s tight hold landing on the carpeted floor. Hermione returned John’s wide smile with a blown kiss as she stretched and then,  it happened.  John Albus extended his tiny arm through the crib’s bars and his toy ascended as if it were a leaf being toyed by the wind right into his hand.  Happy, John let himself drop onto the mattress without giving his first ever display of magic a second thought.

 

     Hermione bolted like a spring let loose, holding tight to the edge of her bed. Two lonely tears raced down her face while her heart was doing wild things inside her chest causing both sides of her temples to pulsate insanely.  And Draco was not there to witness it!  God help her she was sad and happy at the same time. Draco on the other hand would be ecstatic, on cloud nine. 

 

    She had the sudden need to hold her son. By now her face was shining with tears she couldn’t control any longer. As Hermione walked the short distance separating her bed and her son’s she wiped her face and forced a smile.

 

     “You had to do it today, didn’t you? Did your dad put you up to it?”  She asked John half smiling as she picked him up covering his face with the usual morning kisses, trying to hide her distress.  

 

     She held on to him tightly and again, tears spilled uncontrollably.  For a minute or two she found herself fighting the urge to just let her sobs and tears run wild but John was beginning to wriggle out of his mother’s hold and if he saw her wet, tensed face he would start crying himself. He could drive his mother into despair with his bad temper but one thing John Albus could not tolerate was his mother’s tears or sadness. Once again she wiped her reddened face clean of tears.

 

     Hermione kissed her son’s forehead and, like every morning, she lifted him by his armpits as high as she could and dropped him on her bed.   “More!”  John Albus demanded. Hermione gave in a couple of times staring at her son unable to control the tightness in her chest. 

 

    Since she had the day off and her date with Draco was a few hours away there was no rush. She changed John Albus talking and playing silly games with him, made her bed and changed into  a pair of shorts and T-shirt.

 

    As soon as she opened the door John ran to the kitchen.  Hermione found him in grandma’s arms receiving another dose of morning kisses. Leaning against the kitchen doorway she took in the scene as if it was the first time it played in front of her.  Love would never be in short supply in the Granger household.  Candice gave Hermione a quick glance; there was tenderness in her daughter’s eyes, however, something else in Hermione’s expression didn’t escape her mother’s gaze.  

 

    Sitting John Albus on his highchair, Candice glanced at Hermione leaning against the door frame and frowned. “Is something the matter?”  she asked concerned, realizing Hermione had been crying.

 

    Hermione shook her head and approached her mother displaying something pretty close to a smile. She kissed Candice and said,  “I was just thinking how lucky John and I are, that’s all.”

 

    As Hermione busied herself preparing her son’s breakfast, Candice followed her daughter’s movements scrutinizing her demeanour.  How she wished her husband were there! The past couple of days that spark John swore he saw in his daughter’s eyes had faded somewhat. John was much better at getting Hermione to talk, much better.

 

    “Do you need a ride to King’s Cross?  What time are you meeting ... him?”  Candice asked without looking at Hermione pouring herself another cup of tea.  She sat at the small table watching Hermione place the bowl of cereal on John’s table and then walking towards the tea kettle filling a cup up.

 

    “You know, it may not a bad idea if you take me. It is going to rain today and he always enjoys a car ride plus by the time you drop me, come back and eat lunch, it will be time for story time at the library.”  Hermione turned around with the cup nestled on both her hands and added, “He may even take a nap afterwards”

 

    Hermione sat down beside her mum and once again her gaze fixated on her son who was eating his favourite cereal one piece at a time.  Draco was going to burst with pride at the news about John Albus; her parents may have mixed feelings, much like when they became aware of her powers.  It wasn’t going to change anything. This time around she would make sure that her parents were going to be part of John Albus’s life as much as possible; magic would never come between her son and his Muggle grandparents as it did with her.  He would learn about how much they loved him even before he was born and that loyalty to family no matter if one was a wizard or Muggle should be a priority, always.  If she learned anything these past few years was that.

 

   Her mum’s light touch attempting to brush her hair behind her ear interrupted her thoughts.  Candice stared at her with concern in her eyes.  “Are you going to enjoy this trip?”  Candice caressed Hermione’s cheek, “You should be ... well, you are going out with him, something that should make you happy like when you and your friend went to the fair but ... I don’t see you excited about today.”

 

    Talking to dad was easier. Somehow he always managed to read her without asking lots of questions. They would be talking about something completely different and all of a sudden what bothered or annoyed her would be exposed and, to this day, Hermione didn’t know how her Dad could first sense something was wrong and then get her to talk about it without talking about it.  He would be an amazing interrogator in the police department.  Mum on the other hand went straight to the point and never danced around the truth.  They both loved her to the point of self-denial and the events of the past week provided Hermione with yet more proof of that love, not that she needed confirmation.  Her father was like the soothing sound of the sea caressing the shore, while her mother was like the wind out of control before the storm.

 

     Her son’s playful noises pulled her back to reality and to her mum’s questions.  Candice’s gaze had not diverted from her daughter’s face, attempting to understand what was going on through Hermione’s mind.  Better to say something and not let her mother fill in the blank spaces.  “I just ... this week ... One minute it was just the four of us and now ... Hogsmeade is very close to where the final battle was fought, that’s all.”  The second the last word escape her mouth Hermione wish she had bit her tongue.

 

    “Why go there then?”  Candice asked confused and in a bit of a panic.  “Darling, your nightmares may return along with your depression. You are fine now but to go through those memories again! Can’t you go to ... oh I don’t know!  Just go for a walk in downtown London, have lunch there, go window shopping.  Please, Hermione, don’t do this to yourself.  He knows, I mean, he was there, wasn’t he?  How could be so callous about it and you so ... docile? Did you tell him, does he know what state you were in and for how long?”  Candice was about to lose it. “Not only does he leave you pregnant but abandons you, then he graces you with his presence and now this! For God’s sake you thought he was dead and yet he knew ... How could he claim he loves you and asks this of you?”

 

    Hermione took her own face into her hands and extended her fingers, brushing her hair while at the same time blowing out a big sigh.  She lifted her head. Her eyes gave Candice an understanding glance. After all she was a mother herself and, when it came to John Albus’s well being, nothing but her son mattered, the rest be damned.

 

    “Mum …” She took the one free hand Candice was using to play nervously with her napkin and said.  “What you know of our history as a couple ... well ...”  Hermione smiled.  “You don’t know anything about our history as a couple, do you?  He does love me and I would not accept going to Hogsmeade with anyone but him. I am stronger today than I have ever been, believe me, trust me.  Think of this trip as the last stage of my recovery and maybe Draco’s.  I think you and dad deserve the whole story but give us time, please. There is more to it than the past three years and it is a long story, Mum. You and dad know bits and pieces and I understand your frustration at not having the whole picture.  Be patient and keep an open mind just as you have been doing.  I am not lying or hiding anything from you.  _‘Well maybe just a little.'_ Frankly, Mum, I am trying to sort things out myself.”

 

    Candice kept quiet. Hermione avoided her gaze by turning to her son.  Her fingers brushed the blonde curls while her heart contracted once more at the implications of what she witnessed in her bedroom. Lifting her face she glanced at the kitchen’s clock; time for her shower.

 

    “I am going to take my shower now that he is entertained. I’ll get him ready after.”  Placing her cup on the sink, Hermione made her way to her room while her mother leaned forward giving her grandson, yet another kiss.  “Would you tell grandma what is going on, please?”  John offered Candice a cheerio instead.

 

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   Slowly, very slowly Hermione’s feet took her to the King’s Cross Platform Nine and Three Quarters. It has been years since she had been even remotely close to this part of town.  Deep inside she knew that it wasn't only meeting Draco that made her heart beat so fast. Her insides were turning and churning as images burst within in her head; happy memories and not far behind images of the war, the deaths, the sorrow.

 

    She was late.  Young Malfoy was at fault. His temper actually, his stubborn, relentless temperament was to blame. Getting him into the car’s buster seat took the two women a good half and hour. First, he thought it would be fun to play hide and seek.  For someone so young, John Albus had the discipline of a much older child for this kind of games; hiding well and keeping very quiet. Once he was found and dressed it was the wrestling match of getting him into the car.  For the past few months the stroller was the source of the fights, now one had to add grandma’s car.   Kicking and screaming all the way to the station and then crying even louder when he saw his mother leaving didn’t help Hermione’s state of mind.  She dreaded another display of his powers but, mercifully, it did not happen.

 

    Hermione glanced around. Draco had been waiting for forty minutes, assuming he waited that long.  The station was as busy and crowded as she remembered making it hard for her to look for Draco. Platform Nine and Three Quarters was a few metres ahead. There he was, leaning against one of the many columns supporting the station’s structure.  He saw her but did not move.  Draco hated waiting.

 

     He was wearing a crisp white ironed shirt with subtle grey vertical lines,  black dress pants and designer shoes. He looked like a model straight out of the pages of an expensive Muggle magazine. His long blond hair was in a ponytail held together by a black silk ribbon with silver edges. There was something about him that made her feel like the old Draco was staring at her.

 

    She stopped right in front of him without saying a word, digging into his eyes.  There were dark grey and the strands of blue had but disappeared.  He was paler, his expression haggard, not a good sign. Hermione could imagine what Draco’s night was like just by looking at his face.  He was waiting for her to speak first, conveying what he thought about her tardiness. She was going to give in just this once.

 

    She plastered a wide grin on her face and placed a kiss on his cheek and of course that familiar warmth in her middle rushed all the way to her lips as soon as they made contact with his skin.  “Sorry I’m late. Your son decided to have one of his never ending tantrums.  I left him crying and screaming for me in the car.”

 

    His features softened some at the mention of his son and he too smiled without saying a word.  He took her by her elbow and without much warning took them both through to Platform Nine and Three Quarters.  God, she hated it when he did things without warning her first!

 

    Taking her by the hand and without returning her kiss he said with pride as they got in one of the train’s cars.  “My son seems to take after me. I’ve been told I could go on for hours, sometimes falling asleep from exhaustion only to wake up and pick up where I left." Draco smiled as they made their way through.

 

    They had no problem finding an empty compartment. Only a few travellers were making their way to Hogsmeade by train.   Draco sat by the window and put his arm around her shoulders.   He had almost decided to skip work Thursday night and ride on his broom but flying was not going to chase his demons away.  The one thing he had relied upon to bring peace to his broken soul couldn’t help him that time. He thought it was all over now that he and Hermione were together.  He thought he could fight the fear, the nightmares, the memories but somehow Azkaban resurfaced. It frightened him. Nick sent him home after just an hour into his shift and before ‘Little Mo’ beat him senseless after Draco mentioned something about the size of one of his body parts.  He didn’t need Nick protecting him from an oversized, dimwit Muggle, one little hex and ‘Little Mo’ would had been whimpering and asking for his mummy.

 

    Hermione stirred by his side. He allowed his lips to brush against her head. That little gesture was rewarded with a little satisfied moan and Hermione making herself more comfortable against his body. 

 

    “I have a belated birthday present for you,” Hermione said softly, turning her body and looking at him.

 

     He had forgotten. Draco was glad they were by themselves to enjoy what he thought his present would be when Hermione said, “John Albus performed magic for the first time today.”

 

    She was counting on the news to brighten up his mood and she wasn’t wrong.  Draco smiled, a true heart felt smile and the bright blue sea in his eyes broke out just as the dawn’s first streams of light would bring a new day.

 

    Draco kissed her; a deep, happy and passionate kiss which woke all the dormant butterflies in her stomach and made her skin ache for more of his touch.  “I knew it! It was one his tantrums, wasn’t it?  Mother told me that is exactly what happened with me.  What did he do?” he asked expectantly.

 

    “It was very subtle actually. His baby dinosaur had fallen, he was stuck in the crib and he just made it come to him. I don’t think he gave it a second thought.”  As she finished her tale, she wondered why a child with such strong displays of emotions like her son would perform magic because of something so ... mundane.

 

    “I can not wait to get him his first broom or his first wand!  This is the best present in ages! Our children are going to have the best of everything. Once we get our place the first thing we are going to make sure of is that we have a potions room, the best equipped of its kind, as well as a big, wide open field for Quidditch practice.”  He planted another kiss on her lips.

 

    Draco was aware of Hermione’s misgivings about the wizarding world but when Hermione didn’t add or expand on his comments, it didn’t sit well with him. Suddenly he was not feeling as elated as before. “He is a wizard. You are happy, aren’t you? We are a magical family, we can not deny it.”

 

    “Of course I’m happy about John Albus!” she answered while sneaking her fingers into his chest, caressing his well toned torso. Draco stiffened. Merlin! She didn’t know the power she had over him!  “I am just a bit emotional about it, kind of when he took his first steps”

 

     Once again she ignored his comments about them being a magical family or the future together. Her fingers kept drawing circles on his chest while her head rested on his shoulder. He wasn’t pleased about her lack of enthusiasm, however, her light, sensual touch on his skin was making it very hard for him to dwell too long in his annoyance.  

 

    “Draco, what happened to you yesterday after we had lunch?”  Hermione asked distractedly.

 

    He straightened up and looked out the window.  Hermione knew him well.  Their relationship was tainted from its very beginning with prejudice, hatred and betrayal all neatly packed with the parchments of his and his mother’s confession and admission of guilt, tied with the ribbon of their trial and conviction. She was there from the start and as hard as Draco fought against his fears and anger, and despite the thick wall he erected to save some of his pride Hermione charged time and time against it with only her love and compassion as her weapons. No one had shown him that much love and understanding, and yet, there he was again, putting his defences up and, by the life of him, he was damned if he knew why; maybe he was still the coward son of a bitch he had always been. He closed his eyes, feeling exhausted.  He had not slept at all. He walked for a long time after Nick send him home, then he went to a Muggle bar ... and then .… 

 

    He stood up, causing Hermione to lose some of her balance. “Nothing happened to me after we had lunch,” he answered sharply avoiding her inquisitive gaze by looking out the window.

 

    “Something happened, I know. Is it Azkaban?  Your mum?”  asked Hermione sliding on her seat towards the window. 

 

    Draco’s reflection in the glass gave her the answer to her questions.  He was struggling not only for an answer but with whatever new or old demons were haunting him. There was that dark cloud around him, the same one years ago transformed his features into a mask of pain, fear and anger. It was as if  Draco had an alter-ego sneaking his way into his consciousness hammering the old Malfoy mantra sung for generations of pride, entitlement and ill-placed stock in blood purity. She saw it for what it really was: a desperate, misguided defence mechanism to keep her out while Draco crashed and burned fighting against a person he no longer wished to house. Hermione faced that Draco head on before not unlike the manner in which she faced hexes, curses, Death Eaters, mad-raving would be rapists, werewolves and similar hair-raising experiences fighting Voldemort for seven years. Hermione sighed, the battle ahead was long overdue; Draco had pretended long enough. She rose slowly leaning against the window while she intertwined his fingers with hers. 

 

    Outside the country side rushed by while the train swayed back and forth gently rocking its passengers. White clouds hung in the sky in a blue background and the sun sprinkled its yellow here and there.  It was peaceful and surreal.  Dark clouds lingered over Hermione and Draco. He knew it, she knew it.

 

    “You told me a bit about Azkaban the other day, what it made you feel, but you never speak of what it makes you feel now,”  she continued her probe.

 

    “It was only six months. I’ve done my time and I am certainly done talking about it.  You understand?”  His tone was harsh, cold, his eyes narrowed and darkened. “If you are going to turn this trip into some sort of inquisition then we might as well go back!”

 

    Hermione sat down. She was digging into her lower lip while holding on to the edges of the leathered bench. All Draco could see was the unruly curls neatly held together in a beautiful pin, escaping to hug her face which was facing the floor. 

 

    Hermione was gathering the strength to try and keep a cool head when she felt his breath on her neck and soon after his lips brushing against her skin, trailing light kisses from one side to the other. He was using the same strategy she used minutes ago to avoid the issue of their future together. She closed her eyes moaning softly. 

 

     “Let’s not fight,” Draco whispered in her ear.  Hermione agreed. Their kiss was raw, tender, passionate and gentle at the same time, mirroring the river of emotions gushing through their minds and souls. He roped his arms around her waist and gently let her body rest on top of his while he lied down. He cupped her face with his hands and kissed her again burying his hands in her hair. Soon one was travelling down her back, up her blouse, undoing the hooks of her bra and swiftly taking one of her breasts. She wasn’t idle either; Draco found her lips teasing one of his nipples. “Hmm ... Hermione ... oh Her ...” he was about to combust. “I want you, witch, so much ... Now... I want you now.”  The voice of reason warned her: _‘No like this, Hermione, this is the coward’s way out.'_

 

    Draco had one of her breasts in his mouth and she had just released Draco’s erection, driving him insane with her touch.  Absolutely, totally crazy, out of character behaviour, and yet, Hermione didn’t care.  As she guided him inside of her the nagging, warning voice became but a whisper.  She rammed into Draco. All that mattered was them, this joining of their bodies. She shut everything out. Their love making was desperate, the same as those months before his trial and conviction. The threat of a trial and Azkaban were no longer looming in the horizon, those days were long gone; it was the aftermath they would have to deal with now. 

 

   Making love was delaying the inevitable. As they climaxed almost in unison Hermione Jean Granger gazed into Draco’s grey eyes and saw a thunderous cloud brewing in the horizon; unbeknownst to her Draco Malfoy witnessed the same in her chocolate eyes.

 

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

 

    As Draco had promised after Hermione agreed to come with him to Hogsmeade and after she realized a trip to Hogsmeade and back in time for supper was definitely impossible, two house-elves were waiting in the train for the couple to side-Apparate them to their destination. 

 

     “I still don’t understand why Hogsmeade in the first place and why I had to come all the way to King’s Cross, take the train when we could  just  have ... what are their names?”  Hermione was nervous, frightened was a better word and talking kept her from thinking and giving in to everything her erratic beating heart was murmuring in her mind.

 

    Draco was ignoring her diatribe as they made their way to the prearranged meeting place.  He opened  the door to compartment one twenty seven. Two filthy, malnourished and barely covered house-elves greeted them. 

 

     “Master Malfoy, Madam Malfoy.” The younger looking elf made a bow.  

 

   “Just get on with it and meet us at the edge of the village as I instructed and don’t be late.”  Hermione was about to open her mouth when without warning that awful sensation of being pulled into a dark, narrow, never ending tunnel invaded her. 

 

    Merely a second after her feet touched the ground the elves had disappeared into thin air.  Some anger managed to surface again at Draco’s lack of warning; it was a bad habit Hermione added to her list of soon to be modified behaviours. She was taking air in gulps, as if drinking it. Everything around her was spinning. A strong arm held on to her waist. She leaned on Draco and closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling in short breaths. Draco’s heartbeat almost lolled her to sleep.

     

    “Better?”  His question brought her back to reality. She lifted her face.  He smiled at her and then glanced around. “Where would you like to go first?”

 

    _‘Anywhere but here actually’_ she answered voicelessly. “Let’s just walk, where exactly are we?”  She too looked around.

 

    “South of the station. It will not be a long walk to Hogsmeade, shall we?”  He took her hand and started their walk.

 

    There was no rush as they took in their surroundings. Turning their gaze here and there probably thinking and feeling the same; good, happy memories populated Hermione’s thoughts for a while overcome shortly by the horror and pain of the war and its outcome.  When the first glimpses of rooftops and sounds of Hogsmeade reached them, she squeezed Draco’s hand nervously.  _‘Oh God, I’m not ready, I can’t …’_ She focused on the ground and in the sound her flats produced sliding on the green grass.  She was forced to lift her gaze up, Draco had stopped and was holding her by her shoulders.

 

    “I am with you, Hermione,” Draco said giving her a small reassuring smile. “We are going to have a nice lunch, walk around some more and then we are heading back to your parents'.  There is nothing to be worried or scared about.”  He wrapped his arms around her. How could he be so in tune with her feelings one moment and then turn into an arrogant git all in the span of a second?

 

    She clung to him tightly, finding refuge again in the sound of his beating heart. Hermione never told him about what she went through after that awful fight with Ron or about the incident at The Three Broomsticks.  Nor did she tell him about the countless times she stood by the  twins’ shop like a beggar waiting for Harry or Ginny to venture out and allow her to explain how, and why things turned out the way they did.  He read the articles, though, and his reaction was frightening, to say the least. He also witnessed Ron’s pitiful drunken displays under their hotel window. Draco’s reaction was murderous to put it mildly. An enraged out of control Draco Malfoy convinced Hermione her decision to keep most of what was happening outside the four walls of their hotel bedroom a wise choice. Draco was dealing with as much turmoil, maybe more in his life, as she was and she wasn’t about to add more to his already precarious situation. 

 

     “You are right, it is past lunch time, you must be hungry,” she said.  Her heart was trying to escape the confinement of her chest and her lungs were having a hard time keeping life giving oxygen in but ... she needed to find out.  Whether in the Muggle world or the wizarding world she had to conquer her apprehension bordering in panic of coming back to a world, which didn’t hold the same meaning it did to her few years ago;  if nothing else for John Albus’s sake she had to.

 

    Hogsmeade looked the same as she remembered it, all traces of the war gone. She recognized all the familiar places and was surprised to see new shops and homes, brand new homes around the village. Draco had one of his arms around her waist and she imitated him placing her arm around his. Once again her heart skipped many beats when she realized Hogsmeade had been invaded by Hogwarts students. She pretended interest in a display of one of the new shops stealing a few seconds to gather her composure, yet again. Things must have changed in the span of a few years. Inside the shop two girls, one from Hufflepuff and one from Slytherin were browsing through the stands, giggling and whispering to each other, not far from them more of the same was taking place.  Friendships amongst students from different houses was not a rarity; Slytherins being part of the mix, that was different.

 

   Draco followed Hermione’s gaze. Their world had changed.  He felt some relief at what was taking place inside the shop. Voldermort was gone and his demise took, along with his father Lucius, everything Draco once believed in blindly and without question. Well, not everything.  He still felt Muggles were a tinny, winsy inferior to wizards.  He tore his gaze away and turned around. He had no part in the war. He was hidden by his mother, protected by Snape while not far from his hiding place Voldemort’s wave of death and destruction swept throughout the very ground he was standing on, ending right inside Hogwarts. Right before the end, Voldemort’s rage reached them. The images came to him no matter how hard he tried to shut them out. The same ones, which repeated themselves over and over again in Azkaban.  His mother feeble attempt to protect him while Death Eaters send on a mission not to kill, but to torture and exact revenge on the wife and son of a once devout follower crowded his thoughts. By the time it was over, Draco’s body was wrapped around his mother’s, too late to shield her;  he was too late because he had been a coward. He should have died defending her. Now it was his heart’s turn to almost burst with hate and rage from inside his chest. His trembling fingers traced the scar on his left arm, a permanent reminder of his shameful, horrific past.  

 

    Years of living as the son of one of Voldemort’s most loyal followers and then one himself taught Draco to keep his feelings, mostly his weaknesses hidden deep in his soul. In fact it was the reason Occlumency was a skill Lucius taught his son with a feverish obsession. He also learned it could very well have been the difference between life and death as he witnessed many a times. The Dementors in Azkaban obliterated most of his defences; tried as he might there were very little left of him they couldn’t manipulate and retrieve to torture and punish him for his past sins. The past week gave him a false sense of triumph over his tortured soul and deeply wounded heart. But he had promised to Hermione, to his son and to his mother he was not longer bound to the invisible chains of Azkaban.  Damn him for being a weakling again, damned if he was going to let them continue their punishment, damn anyone who stood in his way!

 

    Hermione had turned around feeling a bit better. From the corner of her eye she saw Draco’s fingers tracing the place where the Dark Mark used to be. Without saying a word, Draco took her by her right hand and continued their walk.  Hermione slid her fingers underneath his long sleeve and gently caressed his scar. Draco kept staring ahead, tightening his hold on Hermione.

 

    Deep in thought the sounds of chatter and laughter startled her.  The Three Broomsticks had not changed at all, and why would it? It was as if time stood still, as if it was only yesterday Harry, Ron and she sat drinking Butterbeer, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. A smile sneaked in as images floated around her but suddenly, it all came to a sudden halt.  She was standing right on the same spot she stood and humiliated herself in front of everyone and where Ron started his hatred-filled campaign against her.

 

   “Draco, I can’t stay here. I need to go,” she pleaded.

 

    “Why? It’s not crowded. Here, we can sit right here.” The sound of a voice coming from behind stopped him as he was dragging a chair for Hermione to sit.

 

    “Hermione Granger? I can’t believe it!” Exclaimed the owner of the voice who by now was hugging a speechless Hermione. “I just can’t believe it!”

 

     “Neville?” Was all Hermione could say. A few patrons had turned to look at the trio standing almost in the middle of the bar. 

 

     Neville Longbottom had a wide grin on his face. “Where have you been all these years? It’s so good to see you, so good!”

 

    “Away ... I’ve been away ...” Hermione answered in a hushed voice aware of the glances of a few patrons.

 

      “Aren’t you glad to see me too, Longbottom?”  Draco asked coldly, glaring at the intruder.

 

     “Malfoy,” said Neville barely acknowledging his presence. Turning his attention back to Hermione he added. “I only have a few minutes, would it be all right if...?”

 

     “Oh please, how clumsy of me! Sit with us”  It was then when Hermione returned his embrace with one of her own. Neville’s arms surrounded her again. Lifting her head because he was much, much taller than she remembered, Hermione managed a grateful smile and stole a pleading glance at Draco.

 

    As both friends sat down, Draco waited a few seconds to follow suit, sitting to the right of Hermione and taking her hand in his. Neville showed no interest nor did he have any reaction to Draco’s gesture. Hermione was nervous, cognizant that some of the people around them were paying more attention to three of them, afraid of what Draco might do or say.

 

    “So, how are you? Your cape…” said Hermione aware of the Hogwarts’ crest on Neville’s cape.

 

     “Oh, well,” he sounded embarrassed. “I am almost finished with my internship with Professor Sprout. I live in the castle now.”  

 

   “That is fantastic, Neville!”  Hermione beamed at him, patting his hand, genuinely happy for Neville, a true hero in her opinion.

 

     “Jolly wonderful,” Draco said mockingly.

 

     And once again, Neville ignored Draco’s remarks. Underneath his cape his hand held his wand while the other, visible on the table closed in a tight fist. Hermione glanced at both men. To one she pleaded again, to the other she was apologetic, abashed. 

 

     “We are here, trying to kill some time. The kids are restless. NEWT, exams, warmer days ... They were driving the Headmistress a bit batty. It is only the third and fourth years today,” continued Neville, aware of Hermione’s discomfort as her gaze encountered his.

 

    “But it’s Friday,” she said.

 

    “Things have changed at Hogwarts, not a lot though. Enrollment went down right after the war. Makes it easier to look after them, to tell you the truth.  Most parents chose to keep the children at home. The vandalism, the threats and ...” Neville paused; Hermione had no idea what he was talking about. Where had she been all this time?  From the corner of his face he could sense Draco’s shift in his seat. Draco knew, but Hermione didn’t, how come?

 

    “After ... months after the war there were a few attacks against pure blood families, and anyone who was known to have sympathized with Voldemort. Some were quite serious. Understandably all of it spilled into Hogwarts. Having fewer students allows the Headmistress a few liberties, like allowing this trip on a weekday.”  

 

    He took Hermione’s free hand. “Enough about that. We can talk about it later. I have to get going soon but you being here is kind of a sign and I’d be the dumbest would-be professor if I let this opportunity slipped.  Hermione, come back to Hogwarts,” he blurted, grinning from ear to ear.

 

    Hermione jolted on her seat. Draco moved closer, and for the first time listened to what Neville had to say. Neville proceeded to explain himself better, not without close examination of the reaction of his friend and her companion, one the opposite of the other. “Many students didn’t finish their seventh year. Few came back in September after the war. The first campaign to increase our enrollment failed and for a while we decided to concentrate on the students we had. It just so happened we are about to start a new campaign starting with you, us, our year I mean.”

 

    “Just get on with it, Longbottom, you did say you have to go, remember?” interrupted Draco rolling his eyes.

 

     “Draco ...” Hermione protested. “Go on, Neville,” she said gently, disguising the distress creating knots in her stomach.

 

     Neville tightened the grip on his wand and continued. “There are a few details to work out but we are sending the notices in a few weeks, right after school is done, but you can finish, Hermione, you, Harry, Luna ... Ro...” He stopped, acknowledging for the first time during the conversation his awareness of  Hermione’s fall out with Ron. “I can’t believe I ran into you here! It’s bloody brilliant!”  Neville rose, ready to go, putting an end to their encounter.

 

    “Am I a getting one of those notices, Professor Longbottom?” Asked Draco rising from his chair. The smirk on his face faltering as Neville shot him a glance full of contempt.

 

    Neville pivoted on his heals, glaring at the blonde wizard from a vantage point, since he towered Draco by more than a few centimetres. “As far as I know Death Eaters have never been welcomed to Hogwarts and never will be. Regardless, I have no say in the matter, the four house-heads do, whatever they agreed upon I am bound to follow.”  Neville’s words were met with the coldest of stares from Draco. The only emotion Draco could see in the Unsung Hero of Hogwarts was pure and simple loathing.

 

   A young boy's voice slipped through the tense circle. “Are you Hermione Granger?” he asked Hermione, stealing a nervous glance back to his friends.  Draco and Neville had no choice but to turn, giving the young intruder their attention.

 

    Hermione sat there for a few moments, unable to move as the interaction between Neville and Draco unfolded. She turned slowly and gave the boy a blank expression. The boy waited eagerly for her answer.  “Yes, I am Hermione Granger,"  she admitted softly, aware that her answer was heard not only by the young boy but a few of those sitting at the tables around them and standing at the counter.

 

     The young Hogwarts student looked back at his friends and nodded. “I knew it! Cyrus thought he recognized you, but Tim said you couldn’t be, your Muggle clothes, you know, but then I said...”

 

     “Mr Tower...” Neville was about to scold the boy when Hermione placed a hand on Neville’s arm.

 

     “It’s okay, Neville,” she said facing the boy with a tender smile on her face, offering her hand to her admirer.

 

    Suddenly Raphael Tower lost all speech. It dawned on him that One the Heroes of Hogwarts, the smartest witch of her age, Harry Potter’s best friend just shook hands with him. “I ... well ...”

 

     He was interrupted by his two friends, standing right in front of Hermione staring at her with admiration. “It is an honour to meet you, Miss Granger!” A boy with the cutest of dimples, light brown eyes and short, brown curls took Hermione’s hand in his shaking it nervously. “This is Tim, I am Cyrus and it would be a … I mean … Tim here has some parchment with him and we thought ... could you ...”  

 

    Tim, taller than his two friends, wore an impeccable looking cape underneath which tailored pants and expensive leather shoes were noticeable. Not a strand of his perfectly brushed strawberry blond hair was out of place. His dark, blue eyes gazed quickly at Draco, recognizing him instantly. Tim’s displeasure towards him didn’t escape the former Death Eater. Tim, arrogantly and defiantly held his gaze. Turning to Hermione, who watched mortified the exchange, Tim produced a piece of parchment from his school bag.  Hermione was surprised by what she saw: the crest adorning the front of the bag:  the Slytherin code or arms.

 

    “I tried to discourage my friends from interrupting your lunch, Miss Granger, and the professor’s. My apologies on their behalf. Since the deed is done though ... could we impose on you?” Tim held his parchment in his hand avoiding her eyes; Hermione took it.

 

    “What shall I write, is there anything in particular ...” 

 

     Cyrus didn’t let her finish. “Anything you want!  Are you kidding! When we tell the guys we talked to you and have your signature they are not going to be believe it! Turning his head and looking at Tim he continued, “he is pretending not to care, but Tim is a great admirer of yours.”

 

     Hermione couldn’t help but smile and wonder. What exactly did these boys learn about her, from whom? Tim, a Slytherin, an admirer of hers? 

 

     “The records of the trial are of public domain. My grandmother gave them for me to read.” Tim softened his schooled features and looked directly into Hermione’s eyes. “What you said ... my parents ... they were ...” 

 

     The shame in his expression tore Hermione’s heart. “What I said, Tim, is that we fought for all of us, you, your friends, your family, us,” she emphasized the last word. “All of you are the reason Harry Potter sacrificed so much. When I see the three of you together …” Her voice faltered a bit and her eyes glistened as she went on. “Learn from your past, Tim, but don’t dwell on it; it is you who is in charge of your future now. There is nothing standing in your way and nothing to be ashamed of anymore. You can change your family tree, we all can,” she concluded giving the three friends a knowing smile.

 

     She tore the parchment in three even pieces and proceeded to write a small note to each of the boys. When she handed Tim his, Hermione rose and gave the proud Slytherin a kiss in his flushed cheek and then whispered in his ear,  “Anytime, whenever you feel like talking, just call me. I am sure you will figure out how to use a telephone but, please let’s keep this between you and I, okay?”

 

     The three boys left. Tim waited until his friends were out of sight and waved at Hermione, patting proudly his front pocket where he had tucked in the small piece of parchment.

 

     Neville clear his throat. “I must go. Think about what I said, Hermione. As you can see, you are not finished yet; there is much more to be done and we need you. You know where I am, you don’t need an invitation, not the great, wonderful Hermione Granger, the bravest, most ... generous witch I have ever met.” He kissed her forehead and gave her a heartfelt hug. His lips spoke softly into Hermione’s ear. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to cause you any discomfort. I was at the trial, Hermione, and he’d better be good to you, for his own good I hope he is.” The menacing tone in his voice disconcerted Hermione.

 

     She went down to her seat slowly, wondering about what had just happened; all of it.  Draco had his eyes fixed on the door as Neville Longbottom exited the bar. Hermione took his hand. He sat down holding his head down. Hermione was drawing circles on top of his hand with her thumb, studying his features. Neville’s behaviour toward him, Tim’s reaction when he recognized Draco and then the young boy’s story; it all had to touch Draco somehow but how exactly? One look into his eyes and Hermione would know. 

 

     Draco lifted his head. Hermione let out a silent sigh; Draco had put on one of his favourite masks. He was going to brush off the whole incident. He was going to let it eat him up adding to the turmoil brewing within him.

 

     “I am starving! Ready to order?”  he asked, weaving his hand at one of the waitresses.

 

     And so they ate, Hermione saying very little, eating small amounts of her food. Their conversation gravitated between the new shops in the village, the improvement in the menu, the nice weather outside and, of course, John Albus’s magical powers. Hermione added close to nothing to the last subject.

 

    As they rose to leave a few more patrons approached her, shaking her hand, happy to see her again, asking questions, all of which overwhelmed her and moved her. Draco’s presence was politely dismissed, acknowledged only by a few scornful glances. She kept Draco’s hand in hers all the time as they made their way out; _‘yes, I’m Hermione Granger and in case you haven’t noticed or forgotten this is the man I love.’_   What else was she to do? All eyes were on both of them and every glance, every stare gave the young couple a picture of what their life might be like if they ever came back. If there were those amongst the crowd who wished to express the discomfort or disapproval at her relationship with Draco Malfoy they had kept quiet; apparently she was in friendly territory and Neville’s actions might have influenced their behaviour. What if the situation, their surroundings were different?  

 

    She had stood in front of the Wizengamot and testified on behalf of the wizard beside her; a former Death Eater, the last of the Malfoys, despised by all. Prior to that, Ron’s war path had left her reputation pretty much in shambles. The events of this one particular day were but a lucky break. She knew first hand what those out there thought of them. She wasn’t naive enough to think that Draco and she had no enemies from either camp. In the eyes of many both were traitors.

 

     She had learned Malfoy Manor had been vandalized; she had expected it to happen. Attacking, hurting others because of their alliance to Voldemort?  Muggles and half-blood exacting revenge?  John Albus would never be exposed to such hatred. 

 

    “Where are we going?”  Hermione asked concerned by the determination in Draco’s quick pace away from the village. 

 

    “To Hogwarts,” he answered without looking at her.

 

     She stopped dead on her heals.  “What?!”

 

     His reply was one that made her dizzy with fury. “We are going to tell Headmistress McGonagall we want to come back and finish our schooling.” His explanation finished he turned around taking her by the hand dragging her along.

 

    A bomb had gone off from within her. Heat rushed through her body as quickly as dry grass caught on fire and it stayed there. Her body tensed and in her head she could hear the tick, tack, tick, tack  of a timer going backwards, ten, nine, eight, seven ... When it went off, it was a good thing Hogsmeade was a good distance away from them.

 

     She pried  her hand violently from Draco’s. Her chest heaved up and down in and out rapidly and her fists hung beside her upper thighs. 

   

    She could have screamed it to the top of her lungs but her rage was such that she could not do it so she had to settle for a deceitful calm tone of voice.  “I am not going to Hogwarts.” 

 

    Draco’s back was all she could see for a few seconds; slowly he turned around. Hermione saw a flicker of his ponytail floating lazily behind his neck. His demeanour was composed, relaxed. His eyes dared her and his lips curved into a taunting, devilish smile. “I don’t think you need to be there anyway. I can you just enroll the both of us, because after all, we are a couple, are we not?”  

 

     And he turned around and left her standing, mouth open, nails digging through the palms of her hands;  she thought there was no way her body could sustain her boiling blood, she felt like a human torch. The forest was thicker and the path steeper. Draco was incrementing the distance between them.  She ran up to him and yanked his arm forcing him not only to stop but to pivot on his heals unwillingly.

 

    “I said I’m not going to Hogwarts, Draco. I. am. not. going. to. Hogwarts.”  God help her but inflicting physical damage to the arrogant bastard was becoming more and more enticing by the second.

 

     “What, may I ask is your fucking problem?”  he asked tightening his jaw

 

     “You can not make decisions for me! You can not expect me to tag along, nod in approval and have no opinion whatsoever every time you make unilateral decisions like this one. I am an adult, Draco, an adult who can and will decide what I want to do with my life. I won’t be pressured, threatened or conned into any action because I am my own person, is that absolutely, positively, crystal clear?” Hermione stood tall and determined, her fists brushing her sides.

 

      The veins in his neck were clearly visible, the grey in his eyes had darkened and his hands, hidden behind his back, had become rock solid fists.  “Fine, you are the smartest witch of your age, give me a compelling reason why we should not finished our seventh year when the opportunity has presented itself, why you of all people would walk away from it?”  His lips twitched at the corners as he waited for her reply. Her silence was perceived as a sign of capitulation.

 

    Hermione was pacing from one side of the path to the other sliding her feet softly on the dusty road. Gnawing her bottom lip furiously, hugging herself tightly. She was not thinking for an answer, she was counting backwards to zero again trying to coax her body to please turn down the temperature just a notch. It was a lost cause. She left the path and leaned on one of the many trees on the side of it and let her head rest on its bark closing her eyes with her arms knotted on top of her chest. She needed a clear head, rage would cloud her thoughts. Draco’s breath tickled her nose. She opened her eyes. Both his hands were resting at either side of her head and the predatory look in his eyes almost made her forget what he was trying to do, almost, because Draco Malfoy was going to get a very important lesson: Hermione Granger had reached her limit.

 

     “Draco, you are going to listen to me.” Her tone of voice was devoid of any emotion.

 

    Draco was not listening. When she tried to push him away, he held her hands against the tree, high above her head. The defiance in her eyes aroused him even more. “Answer my question, Hermione, and I will let you go. In the meantime...”

 

     He buried his face in her neck. Holding on to her wrists he lowered her arms and placed them on his chest.  He was leaning so hard against her, Hermione couldn’t move. Freeing one of his hands but not losing his grasp on her wrists he managed to unbutton her blouse down and wrap his fingers on one of her breasts, teasing her mercilessly when...

 

    “Whoever you two are turn around this instance!” Minerva McGonagall was standing in the middle of the road, arms crossed against her chest.

 

    Draco was the first to comply; Hermione behind him was fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. Stepping from behind Draco, she directed her eyes to the ground. Embarrassed and well beyond enraged Hermione wrung her hands wishing the ground would swallow her. The pregnant silence did little to improve the situation.  

 

    After she recovered from the astonishing encounter the Headmistress cleared her throat and flashed them an angry, disapproving glance. “Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger ... this is certainly unexpected.”  

    

     “Professor,” Draco straightened himself and held his head high. 

 

    “Mister Malfoy, I see you are in good health. I am pleased those rumours were not true. And you, Miss Granger, back from a well deserved sabbatical?”  The thin line of her lips bend upwards into a faint smile and her deep frown relaxed just a bit.

 

    “Professor, it’s good to see you again.”  Hermione allowed her gaze to meet her old teacher’s eyes. Hesitantly the young witch approached and extended her trembling hand, shame written all over her features, deeply embarrassed, thinking about what must be going through the Headmistress’s mind.

 

     McGonagall's trembling hands took Hermione’s between them. Their eyes met and no words were warranted. Hermione couldn’t help herself and embraced her professor who held her tight, close to her chest. 

 

     Stepping back the older witch said, “I am on my way to the village. Care to keep me company or you’d rather continue with ...”  

 

     Draco interrupted. “Actually professor we were on our way to see you. Longbottom informed us about your plans to increase enrollment and we would like to be the first ones to sign up.”

 

   “Well, you couldn’t have chosen a better time!” she exclaimed pleased.

 

    “Professor ... I don’t ....”  Hermione’s objection was cut short by an eager Draco.

 

    “How exactly are you going to implement your plan?” Draco asked tugging Hermione by the elbow, keeping pace with the Headmistress who had started her trek to Hogsmeade.

 

    Raising an eyebrow McGonagall studied her ex-pupils closely. Hermione had rejected Draco’s touch rather swiftly. The professor opted to continue her examination as she answered Draco’s inquiry. “Obviously we are dealing with adults now therefore evening and night classes as well as Saturdays’ morning classes will be offered. NEWT and exams would take place the last weekend of June. Once we send the notices we’ll have a better idea about numbers and preferences, regardless, we will go ahead as planned.” 

 

    Raising her hand she stopped Draco’s next intervention and addressed a very quiet, distracted Hermione on her other side. "Miss Granger, any questions?” Through the corner of her eye McGonagall studied Hermione’s reaction, raising the proverbial eyebrow again.

 

   “I haven’t decided yet, Professor. Mr. Malfoy obviously has.”  She answered disguising, without success, the tension in her voice.

 

   “Hmm ... Whatever your present circumstances, Miss Granger, finishing your seventh year should be given careful consideration. I wish you would. Things have changed as you are aware and you, Miss Granger ...” Both witches locked glances as McGonagall continued. “You must understand you are not an ordinary witch. Not many could have done what you have accomplished, what you gave up for the sake of so many. You owe it to yourself and to those who love and admire you to take back what was so painfully and cruelly taken from you.” 

 

    McGonagall stopped and faced both of them. Her expression had softened. Her eyes veered from Hermione to Draco and back to the young witch. “It is good to see you both again. Whatever decision you make, Hermione, remember, you have friends here and you, Mr Malfoy ...” Her doubts about him were clear as day in her eyes. “Second opportunities are hard to come by, some call it luck, I call it a gift best not be wasted.” 

 

     “I believe you two need sometime alone.” She held Hermione’s right hand for a few seconds, smiled, turned and resumed her walk.

 

     “I guess that’s settles it. We are coming back to Hogwarts.” Draco’s remark brought Hermione out of her pensive state. McGonagall’s words settled gently in her heart, Draco’s words put a match to her already out of control fury.

 

    All her pent-up emotions were swallowed by a black hole. She didn’t scream, swore or anything remotely similar. She was well past anger and rage to be able to do anything but murder him. Hermione turned around and started walking toward Hogsmeade in long, angry strides.

 

    Expecting anything but that reaction Draco stood in the middle of the road numb and stunned. Shaking his head he ran. His hand caught her left arm but Hermione shook it off keeping her pace. Draco caught up to her and grabbed both of her arms this time. “What the hell are you doing!” he demanded.

 

     “I am going home. I’ve had enough of your stupid games. Let me go.”  The sun in her eyes lightened the few strands of gold in them and it also made it abundantly clear to Draco that the lionesses of Gryffindor was alive and well.

 

     “You didn’t answer my question back there. Why ...” 

 

    Hermione stepped back forcefully, prying her arms away from his fingers. “You are not going to listen to me, you don’t want to listen. I am going home; you do whatever the bloody hell you want. Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, just don’t ...”  Without realizing it, her right hand twitched and her fingers wriggled as if she was holding her wand between them.

 

     “How do you plan to get back? I am the only one who can summon the house-elves,” he asked almost making fun of her. But Hermione was done with him. She was walking again.

 

    “What about your parents!?’ he inquired at the receding figure. “I want to see my son!  HERMIONE!” But she was out of his sight and he wasn’t going after her.

 


	21. <b>Chapter 21.</b>

  
Author's notes:

**  
**

* * *

 Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.

A/N: Many thanks to my wonderful beta Indie  for her support and brilliant editing. 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

**Chapter 21: A Week In The Life Of Hermione Granger. Part IV.**

 

**‘If there isn’t love, there is only pride’** (From the song  Giving Up On You)

 

   Her house, everything around her felt surreal.  Hermione had not cried during her walk back to Hogsmeade or when she asked Neville for help or when Ginny, a very angry Ginny, side-apparated her home. What she wanted more than anything in the world was to hold on to John Albus for a long, long time.

   Dad was not home yet, Mum should be busy in the kitchen getting supper ready and her beautiful son was either taking a nap or running around with his dinosaur.

   At the sound of the keys on the door, John Albus ran to the door and flew into his mother’s arms. Hermione held on to him as if her life depended on it. His tiny arms around her neck, his soft cotton-like cheeks on hers, his little body was like a balsam for the young mother.

   “You are early! I haven’t...” So much for holding back her tears, Hermione was crying quietly. Without saying a word Candice ran to her daughter and embraced her. Both felt John Albus sliding down, probably feeling suffocated between them. Thankfully, at the sound of the theme song of one of his favourite TV shows, he ran to it and sat contentedly in front the TV.

  “I knew this was a bad idea,”  said Candice in a hushed voice, putting her arms around Hermione’s shoulders, walking back to the  kitchen pulling Hermione along with her. 

  Hermione sat at the small table and buried her face in both her hands crying in near silence. Candice put the kettle on, opened the cupboard beside the window facing their backyard and took two cups out, placing them on the counter and quickly producing two tea bags from a clear glass container. Then she sat beside Hermione and took her in her arms just as she’d done countless times since her daughter came back to them.

   The quiet sobs pained her and angered her. “Hush darling, mum is here. You are home, it’s okay now” Candice kissed Hermione’s head. Closing her eyes she wished for Hermione to be a little girl again when the source of her tears was a tumble from her bike or a torn book.

  The kettle complained loudly. Candice gave Hermione another kiss on her forehead and proceeded to prepare their cups of tea. John Albus ran into the kitchen, hiding under the table, giggling as he came from underneath it, craddling his head between his mother’s legs and then going back down again. Mumbling to himself the toddler ran back to his TV show.  Candice placed both cups on the table, sliding one to Hermione, wiping traces of shed tears from her face. Both drank from their cups in silence. Hermione felt some peace, sheltered, now that she was back ‘home’; Candice, on the other hand, wished the bastard was in front of her so that she could murder him. Her cub had been hurt and short of killing Draco she couldn’t picture any other option in her head that would satisfy her.

   “I’m afraid to ask. If you tell me I may grab something from the kitchen probably sharp and long and kill him on the spot.” She wasn’t trying to be funny, she meant it, but it made Hermione smile.

   “Somehow I don’t think it would lift my spirits up,  reliable baby sitters are hard to come by you know.” Another smile appeared in Hermione’s face and reached her brown, moistened sad eyes.

   Candice smiled back and took Hermione’s hands in hers. “I gather he is not coming later?”

   “I don’t know, Draco is unpredictable at the moment.” Hermione answered truthfully.  She was calmer, clear headed. Then again, she had to be. She knew more was to come.

   “What do you mean? He might come create a scene right in front of his son!? I won’t stand for it, this is your house, our house and he has no right, none whatsoever...,”  Candice restrained herself, almost gagging from the effort.

   “If he comes, three scenarios could play out: he would come ready to pick up where we left off, not caring one iota about anyone but him and what he wants; or he could be all cool and collected, as if nothing had happened waiting for my guard to come down, or, he would want to talk, have a heart to heart conversation about...,” Hermione let out a sigh... “I don’t think the last one has a chance in hell. Not at this moment or in the near future anyway. I am ready for him. And if he doesn’t come I am ready for it too.”  Her cool assessment of the situation confounded Candice. The Hermione who came through the door a few minutes ago was not the same one resting her head on her mother’s shoulders, giving a matter of fact assessment of her present situation with the father of her child.

   “When you came in I thought...I mean you looked like you were about to have a breakdown,  just like when...,” Candice paused, worry painted all over her face. “Today you went back. Few months ago you couldn’t even talk about it without crying your eyes out! I remembered, I’ll always remember.” Her voice faded as she said the last words.

  “I told you mum, I am better. I have you, Dad, John Albus and... my friends.”  Candice gave a snort.

   “You’d better get use to it. Much has happened in the past week and  in the past three years which I can’t ignore. I missed Harry and Ginny, they are an important part of my life. At the time...,” She allowed the memories to take her back to those months before she left. “Time, mum, time has made me stronger. Harry is my friend, my brother. Ginny and Harry, the Weasleys, I am ready to confront them. At this stage in my life I need them as much as I need  you and Dad.”  Of that Hermione was sure.

  “And John Albus’s father?”  Candice asked, knotting her eyebrows in an angered frown.

   Hermione’s chocolate eyes reached for her mother’s, weariness  pushed aside by purposiveness and certitude. “I love him. He is confronted by his own demons. Soon you and Dad will understand why, it is time you learned what we all went through. I will cry some more, half the time I will feel like giving up on him  and the other half  more like killing him and you will ask me why and I will have no other answer but that I love him.  I can not help it, simple as that.”

   Hermione rose and walked back to the sink. Looking out the window she wondered what was Draco thinking or feeling.  He was all alone. Alone by choice. Her heart ached for him. Why must he be so hard on himself? Why wasn’t he letting her in? 

   “I’ll freshen up and help you set the table. We are not going to let Mister Malfoy spoil our dinner.”  Hermione kissed her mum on the cheek. “Thanks mum."

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

   John Granger strolled in his house breathing in the wonderful smell of his favourite dish: roast beef. The two female figures in the kitchen and the sound of his grandson’s voice filled his heart with joy. Glancing around,  he frowned; someone was missing.  He dropped his briefcase on the couch on his right and quietly walked into the kitchen. Candice let out a scream, followed by an angry swat on her husband’s chest as he swirled her around, planting a kiss on her lips.

   “That was not funny!” She hit him again.

   “He thinks it is, don’t you John?” He picked John Albus. “How about a kiss.”  Obediently John Albus gave a wet kiss to grandpa laughing out loud when he found himself dangling from his feet. Slowly John  lowered him to the floor where he stayed,  staring at the adults smiling at him. Turning on his side he got up and ran out the kitchen, back to his toys.

   “And you, too grown up to kiss Dad?”  Hermione walked into her father’s arms and stayed there for a long time. Candice thought it best to leave, as she walked out her fingers caressed her husband’s face.

   “Draco is not coming.”  John said. Hermione had not let go of her dad. Their quiet embrace a source of comfort  for the young woman.

   “If he comes it may be a bit awkward, most likely unpleasant. Maybe both.”  She lifted her face. Her expression hid nothing. Her so called date with Mr. Malfoy dimmed the cheerful glint in her eyes he saw a few days ago. “He is  dealing with the war, what he lost because of it, his past...us. I may be asking too much from you and mum but let it play out for as long as possible, please?”

   In her pleading eyes John saw the ghost of past nightmares dancing freely, released by whatever transpired hours ago. He also saw love. Love for a broken man, a stranger to him. Another victim of  a war he knew little about. It tugged at his heart the realization that children could have gone through such horror;  that his own flesh and blood had experienced the taste of fear, death and blood reserved only for seasoned soldiers.  Sadly, Hermione’s recovery meant she had to face those nightmares again.

   He took her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. “I won’t allow him to hurt or threaten you in any way. He steps out of line, wizard or not, I will not be able to control myself. Understand?”  Hermione nodded.

   While the roast kept warm in the oven and her parents prepared the salad, Hermione decided to play with John Albus in the backyard. Those few moments with her son would help her inner self to settled down. After a while of chasing mummy around John was content with Hermione sitting on the steps leading to the well kept garden, watching him playing in his sandbox.

  Candice strained voice made her jump. “Your guest is here”

   Hermione snapped her head backwards. Draco came from behind her mother. He was wearing the same clothes he wore earlier. His hair reached his shoulders, no longer held in a ponytail, the grey in his eyes was almost transparent. His features appeared distant, detached. Climbing down he avoided making contact with Hermione’s eyes.  He walked straight to the sandbox; John Albus glanced at the stranger and ran to his mother’s arms.

   Candice had gone back into the house where she and her husband watched Hermione and Draco from the kitchen window.

   “He doesn’t remember me. He is afraid of me.”  Draco lifted his hand, letting it stand in the air, close to his son’s face not sure what to do. The muscles in his face relaxed and the expression in his eyes mellowed bringing forth faint strands of blue.

   “He is playing hard to get, aren’t you, John?” It was hard to hide all the unrest going through her. John had his arms around his mother’s neck, resting his head on one of her shoulders from where he stole glances at the stranger. The blond man wasn’t a stranger though: the little boy remembered a rather pleasant stroll on top of the world, tall as the tallest tree on top of the man’s shoulders.

  “Remember me, John? I am your Dad, I...am.” With the tips of his long fingers he touched his son’s cheeks. John surprised both his parents when he took Draco’s index finger in his tiny hand. Soon a game of tug of war ensued. Draco pulled his finger away and John, giggling, pulled back.

  Hermione fought the lump in her throat. Both father and son played their little game for a while and when John climbed down and started to run, prompting Draco to chase after him, she had to turn around and wipe her face, facing her parents at the window.

  She had pictures in her head, sketches of what life with her son and Draco would be like once they were together. She pictured them in a small, cozy home filled with love and laughter. There would be the typical rows between Draco and her followed by tender kisses and Draco’s very unique version of an apology,  but they would be happy. The laughter of her son in the background was hollow, meaningless. Draco and her were together, sharing the same physical space, sharing their bodies only to put up one wall after the other.

   How could love find its way through such a maze? But Love did find its way not long ago. At the darkest, most painful time in their lives, Love chose them and it fought against fear and hate, never giving up on its quest. They put up one wall and Love found its way around it;  Draco and Hermione would conjured up another wall up and Love rammed through it,  and on and on the battle raged on until Love found its way out, no longer confined, it bursted out free, molding their souls and hearts until neither one of them could recognize them anymore.

   Draco loved her. Shame, anger and guilt shrouded every part of his soul, and love for her couldn’t wash them away, but it gave Draco the courage to accept and proclaim his feelings for her. Hermione clung to that certainty. Draco was in love with her, he loved her. He had forgiven her. She made a horrible mistake by walking away from him. She could have made it less painful for him, helped them both strengthen their relationship and start the healing process and because of her decision Draco relied on his pride, anger and shame to cope. If he could have forgiven her, he must love  her. For the first time since she laid eyes on him days ago, Hermione felt like a ragged doll hurled by an implacable wind. Would their love be enough to fight and win this final battle?

  Draco had John on his shoulders as he made his way back to the house. The uptightness as they took their seats was almost unbearable for Candice. Draco helped Hermione and Candice sit. When John sat so did Draco. John sat at the head of the table, his wife on his left, his daughter on his right, John Albus  beside her and Draco at the other end of the table.

  John Granger considered the young couple. Without saying a word, much was said. Draco couldn’t take his eyes away from John Albus or Hermione and when she tried to wipe his grandson’s face, Draco swiftly, yet gently, brushed his fingers with hers and took over her task of helping feeding their son. Their touch lingered, barely and when their gaze met,  John started to have a better understanding of what Hermione had asked of him in the kitchen.

  “This is very good Mrs. Granger, you are an amazing cook.” His casual, sing song voice along with his polished manners clashed with the uneasiness surrounding them.

  “Thank you,” answered Candice forking a piece of potatoes rather forcefully.

  Candice expression hid nothing.  The tension in her features, the stiffness in her body and blatant display of  fury swirling in her  eyes spoke volumes to Draco. He was waiting for the floodgates to be released as he caught a glimpse of Hermione doing a good job at restraining the dam of emotions she could hardly keep inside. Well, so be it. He was on a mission, a fact finding mission on which much depended.  He should have given himself more time to think things through and listened to the almost imperceptible voice of  his conscience sending all sort of warning signals but the voice of the darkness still residing in him prevailed.

  Draco sneaked a pick at the man in front of him.  John Granger’s  light brown eyes had a soft  glow in them. He was enjoying his meal and had yet to utter a word or betray his feelings. Draco was at a loss. Here was someone, a Muggle no less, masterfully keeping him at bay without much effort. The young Slytherin felt exposed and he had nowhere to hide.

   Draco procured a charming smile, locking glances with the angry woman sitting on his right and gliding his gaze to Hermione, gifting her with a weak smirk. She couldn’t see any of it.  When not assisting their son with his meal, she focused her attention on her plate, moving around her food.

  “Cooking is not my forte. Never gave it a thought. Homemade cooking was not a phrase I was familiar with.  Yours and Mrs. Aisling’s...cooking...,” His slip of the tongue was quickly stored in Hermione’s mind.

  “Mrs. Aisling,” Hermione repeated the name as her fork made its way to her mouth. Her brown, inquisitive eyes were fixated on Draco’s sharp-angled features.

  “He does like his meat, doesn’t he?” Draco’s left hand ruffled John Albus’s blond hair. His son wrapped his wet, sticky finger around his father’s index finger again. Draco winced at the slimy contact claiming, his finger back and quickly wiping it with his napkin. Candice snorted, her husband’s  eyes were amused.

   “No games at the table John, eat your food.” Much like his father, John Albus chose to ignore his mother, leaning over his right to tug at his father left arm, reaching  all the way to Draco’s hand. Draco couldn’t resist him.

  “I said no playing at the table,”  Hermione turned her son back and gave Draco a dirty, warning look. John persisted, whining.

   Hermione shifted him again, only this time John pushed her arms away from him and swerved  to his Dad, sensing he had found an ally.

  “John, you can play later, when we've finished.”  She knew what was coming and the timer in her head went on: ten, nine, eight, ...

  John Albus was pouting, pooling his eyes with his infinite amount of well stored tears, begging his Dad to have pity on him. Draco’s heart swelled. Glancing at Hermione, Draco freed his son of his confinement and sat him  on his lap. As if he had fed his child plenty of times, Draco placed John Albus’s plate, cup and washcloth in front of him and continued helping John Albus with his dinner, teasing him, letting John Albus feed him some of his vegetables or running his small fingers through his father’s long hair.

  Hermione rose a few a centimetres from her chair and was about to open her mouth when her father tugged at her wrist. Hermione closed her hand in a fist which her father covered with his big hand. _‘Let it go, this is one battle you can lose’_ she could almost hear her father say to her.

  “So Mrs. Aisling cooks for you?”  The question was innocent enough. John push his plate aside and waited for an answer to his inquiry.

   “Mrs. Aisling is my supervisor's wife. I had dinner a couple of times with them.”  Draco gave John Albus what was his last spoonful and gazed down at his son who leaned on his father's chest pushing his plate with untouched vegetables to the side.

  Candice and Hermione exchanged glances. Both stood up and without a word started to clear the table. John Albus wriggled his body down, running to the couch, his playful eyes invited his father to follow him and Draco obliged.

  “Are they a magical family?” John was sitting at the dinning room table facing Draco and John Albus sitting on the sofa. From the kitchen the two women were paying close attention to the conversation although they pretended to be occupied putting dirty dishes away and preparing the tray with dessert.

  “Oh no, they are all Muggles.” Draco answered smiling at his son who had climbed on to the back of the couch trying to position himself on Draco’s shoulders.

   “I see,”  John rose. Hermione was coming back with dessert. Her father took the tray from her and placed it on the coffee table. Hermione had no choice but to sit with Draco. Candice was sitting on one of the armchairs while her husband sat beside her on the other one.

   John Albus had come down from the sofa and ran to the box with his toys and extracted his beloved dinosaur settling at his mother’s feet. Dessert was left untouched.

   “So how did you take the news?”  Draco’s question was met with alarm from Hermione and a quizzical glance from her parents. “I am talking about John Albus’s magic powers.”

  Candice brought her left hand to her mouth suppressing a scream. Hermione dropped her head focusing on the toddler at her feet and her father stared into Draco’s eyes. “He is the son of magical parents, it was expected.” John was meeting Draco’s attempts to corral  and intimidate Hermione head on.  He promised her daughter to ‘play along’  but he wasn’t about to allow Draco to storm in and set the rules of the sick game he was forcing them all to participate in.

   “You didn’t tell them,”  Draco reproached Hermione who was running her fingers through her son’s hair, while at the same time glaring at Draco.

  “You are his father, you should have been informed first. Congratulations to both of you.”  John interceded and accepted Hermione’s apologetic glance.  His eyes flew back to Draco’s. 

  “Does this mean ...,”  Candice’s trembling voice faltered.

  “Mum, nothing is going to change. He is still John Albus, your grandson just like I am Hermione, your daughter.”  Hermione’s assurances were met by a pair of darkened grey eyes.

  “Many things are going to change. For starters I have added you to my account at Gringotts. You both  will be provided for as it should have been from the beginning.  I found a house for us at Hogsmeade. I figured it will help being close to Hogwarts now that  we are going to finished our studies.”  His words had some of the effect he expected.  Candice stared at him opened mouthed, her eyes glistening with tears, pleading at Hermione to stop the insanity of the monster sitting in her living room.  John was drilling his amber, defiant, determined eyes into Draco, who managed to produce a smirk on his face.

  Hermione picked John Albus up and taking a few steps gently placed him in Candice’s arms. “Take him out, for a walk or a ride, doesn’t matter. I need to talk to Draco and cannot promise it will be a civilized conversation.”  Relief washed over Candice’s features. She couldn’t stand Draco’s presence anymore. Clinging to her grandson without saying a word, she left the room and the house through the back door in the kitchen. John Albus’s small cries faded away as the door closed behind them.

  Hermione breathed in,  raised her shoulders and slowly turned around.  Her eyes met her father’s,  they gave her courage and some reassurance.  John wasn’t going anywhere. This was her battle to fight but it didn’t mean she had to do it alone. No longer sitting, Draco closed the gap between them.  Hermione’s steeled gaze met Draco’s.  Her right hand clung to the mobile phone in the back pocket of her skirt, turning it on, placing a trembling finger on one of the buttons.

   “It is not my intention to live together without being legally married. Monday we should book a day and time for our wedding. The sooner the better. Malfoys stand for long held values and traditions, none of which include having children out of wedlock or  questionable living arrangements.  And you, well... we had a taste of what and who you are today, didn’t we? We mustn't disappoint your adoring fans.”

  His words stung at Hermione’s heart. Her fingers dug deep in the palm of her left hand. Through clenched teeth she said. “You talked about good breeding, values and traditions. Malfoy values! You manipulate, humiliate and control those around you without any regard for their feelings. Long held traditions!” Hermione gave him a mocking snicker. “We lived together, remember? We had a son out of wedlock. Don’t talk to me about pure blood moral values and traditions. This charade of yours has nothing to do with it. Right now you are nothing more than a bully and a coward.” 

   Draco inched his way closer.  “So we deserve each other, don’t we? I am a Death Eater and you Hermione Granger... what was it The Daily Prophet compared you to?” Hermione wide eyed pleading stare made him faltered but  not for long. “Oh right! something about  Muggle history...a war, France...those women, you know those who...”

   “Draco stop!” Hermione cringed at the memory of that particular article. It all was getting out of hand.

   “We are calling a spade a spade here as your Muggle saying goes. Who is the coward here?   I believe I’ve demonstrated to you Hermione Granger that a coward I am not. I was not the one who walked away. I am not the one pretending to be whom I am not nor have I forgotten... you said...” Both locked their gaze. He was talking about the trail and again for a fraction of a second the dark veil engulfing them started to lift but emotions were running wild. "Hermione Granger is nothing but a joke. I am a coward! Don’t make me laugh!”

   John slid to the edge of his seat. Draco met his eyes. “Hasn’t she mentioned what happened during our wonderful lunch today? Did she tell you about her role in the war, who I am, where I was when she left me?”

   “Is it because of me?  The great Hermione Granger,  The Heroine of Hogwarts, the right hand of The Boy Who fucking Lived and Defeated The Dark Lord has realized the error of her ways? Is that why you won’t marry me, come back with me to our world because...of who I...” Hermione almost flew into his arms. His eyes were beseeching her but not for long. “I am proud of being a wizard and you have no right to deprive me or my son of what we are entitled to.”

  “I am not ashamed of you or of my love for you Draco, you know that, don’t you?” It was her turn now to show some weakness. Her hand reached for his but Draco denied her.

  “Prove it. Let’s get married, come with me.” He demanded.

  “I am not going anywhere with you.  You know what this is about and it is not about us, it is about...the war, Azkaban, your Mum, what went on at the Three Broomsticks.  Why won’t you talk to me Draco? Why do this?” She flung her arm around. “You are not yourself and you know it,”   She said bravely when inside she felt about ready to fall apart. Biting into her lip, she fought for control of her emotions. 

  “Yet, in spite of it, I seem to be good for one thing, aren’t I? That was one ride on the Hogwarts Express I shall never forget.” John sprinted to his feet, one had to only look at Draco’s gaze roving about Hermione’s body to understand what his remarks meant. Enough was enough. His daughter reacted even faster.

  Hermione slapped Draco, hard. “You son of a bitch! You...bastard.”  Her insides stirred, compressed and turned painfully. “Leave now Draco,”  She said lividly, burning him with her fiery gaze.

  “Leave Mr. Malfoy. This is Hermione’s home and you have extended your welcome,” said John taking Draco by the arm. Furiously Draco shook the hand off.

  Draco’s icy grey eyes defied and threatened Hermione. “You have my son, remember who you are dealing with Hermione. I  have rights, I will see him anytime, anywhere I want to. Muggle or Magical world, I am his father. My son won’t be denied his heritage, I will make sure of that.”

  As Draco exited, slamming  the door behind him, Hermione collapsed into her father’s arms, crying inconsolably.


	22. <b>Chapter 22</b>

  
Author's notes:

 

 

* * *

Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.

**A/N:  Many thanks to my wonderful beta Indie for her support and brilliant editing.**    


 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •  

****Chapter 22:  When Ghosts And Demons Come Out To Play.** **

 

His shirt clung to his chest and backside. He blinked rapidly, keeping his eyes clear of the stream of sweat and tears flowing down his face. His legs pressed on one after the other at a manic speed and his heart ached as it never did before. Draco Malfoy was running, holding his throbbing head in his hands.  He was a hunted man. No longer in control, Draco had let them all free to torment and gnaw his mind and soul.

 

   He ran heedless of who or what was in front of him. The stares, the angry shouts didn’t register.  He had to get away.   But where could he hide from himself? His demons were part of him, the ghosts he thought gone had come back to extract revenge. 

 

   Draco wanted it all to end. He held on to his head again. The sounds and images danced their morbid dance and there was nothing he could do to stop them. No, the truth was he wasn’t fighting them anymore; let them finish him off. And so he ran while the images, his pain and shame closed in on him. Narcissa’s limp body in his arms, those he was forced to watch in agony, pleading for a swifter death, their eyes ... their pleading pupils tearing at his soul. Hermione contorting in pain in front of him, his mother in Azkaban, alone, just like him. Alone with his memories, his guilt and his shame. Draco Malfoy wanted to die.

 

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   Darkness. Silence. Pain. He was not dead. Death meant no pain and he definitely was in pain. Inadvertently his hand rested on one side of his face, it stung as his eyes blinked away tears. His bent  knuckles hurt as his fingers traced the source of the stinging sensation: his cheek was cut open. His eyebrows were moving upward but his eyelids would not part as if they were glued together. Draco skimmed the back of his hand through his face, right to left. His left side twitched; Merlin it hurt! His left eye was swollen. He focused his attention up above. A few seconds later, what he thought was multiple strings of rays of light coming through became a faint single golden thread of dust particles. He tried to roll to one side and let out a groan. It really, really hurt.

 

    For a few moments he revelled in the quiet in his head; the diabolic dance had stopped, replaced now by something much more tangible, less frightening: his head felt as if an axe and a hammer were hacking and bludgeoning every bit of his grey matter. Physical pain had never been sweeter. Another painful groan echoed through as his hand brushed his upper lip; it was also cut and enlarged. 

 

   “Young master is awake, sir.” 

 

Draco’s head jerked to one side. The resulting throe in his head travelled through every muscle in his body making its way back to his brain in an explosion of million of starts.  His healthy eye took a few moments to focus. A house-elf stood by lifting his gaze as he addressed ... Arthur Weasley!

 

   “Don’t try to move, Draco,” Arthur said softly. 

 

   “Oh my!” Healer Mundell exclaimed glancing at Draco’s injured face and bloodied shirt as she quickly steadied herself after Apparating in the middle of the room.  “My apologies, Arthur. It’s been a while since I had a middle of the night house call!” Serenity Mundell was already at work. Swiftly her wand glided from Draco’s head to his toes. The body of the wounded man glowed in an uneven myriad of yellows, reds, blues and oranges as the Healer’s wand travelled back and forth over his body.

 

   “You must be in pain, Mr Malfoy. Here, drink this first.”  Her attention turned back to Arthur who stood at the foot of the bed as she lifted the injured wizard’s head making sure every drop of the potion was ingested. “His alcohol levels are high, very high. Broken ribs, broken hand, cuts in his hands, scalp, and face; bruises everywhere. No hexes or spells. This is nothing more than a good, old fashioned beating.”

 

   Arthur didn’t reply. Healer Mundell prepared a couple of more vials which she carefully placed on the night table. With the help of her wand she took care of Draco’s cuts.

 

   “These will help with his broken bones. Maybe two vials of sleeping potion, a couple of days of rest and you’ll be as good as new. The bruises may take a few days to disappear. The cuts are not deep, but they will be tender for a while.” With a flick of her wand, two pillows positioned themselves behind Draco’s back and head. Draco winced.

 

     “Casper will take of young master, missus Healer,” The house-elf said eagerly.

 

     “Make sure he rests and drinks his potions on time. One of these and one of these he can drink now. I already gave him something for the pain. The next two vials, lunch time. He must eat to regain his strength and heal faster. Will you remember?” Casper nodded sitting on the floor by Draco’s bed.

 

   Healer Mundell walked towards Arthur and he in turn nodded towards the door. “Thank you, Serenity,” he said glancing back at the man on the bed. “If I could impose on you one more time.” 

 

   Serenity patted his shoulder as she said. “I don’t need to report this, Arthur. If this is another incident of retribution or revenge I’m sure you will be the first one to document it and I will be more than happy to file my report with yours. For now, my visit to Malfoy Manor shall be known to just the two of us ... and Draco Malfoy of course. Back to my bed I go.”

 

  “Thanks again, I’ll keep you posted.” Arthur shook the young Healer's hand and with a pop she was gone.

 

   Arthur reclaimed his spot by the foot of the bed.  Casper's pointed ears perked up.  Draco’s piercing grey gaze lingered on the redheaded man. The young wizard was loaded with questions he was too proud to ask, especially to the man standing in front of him.  The Weasley patriarch’s blue eyes settled on the son of his sworn enemy. No rancour or sympathy clouded his eyes; they bore on Draco with an emotionless stare.

 

   “Wards alerted the Ministry of an intruder at the Manor. I found you unconscious in the main entrance and Casper here helped me carry you to your bedroom. What happened, who attacked you or why? You and Casper are the only ones who know,” explained Arthur studying the young wizard.

 

   “Wards should have prevented you from trespassing, not alerting you of my presence here. People Apparating as they pleased? That is impossible!” Draco shifted a little, his features contorted in pain. He closed his healthy eye and sedated his breathing. When he glanced back at the wizard, Arthur had not moved and apparently was in no hurry to either explain any further or leave. Draco traced an invisible line down his left shoulder. 

 

   Finally Arthur pulled a face. “You seemed to have forgotten a few things. The Ministry has Malfoy Manor under its jurisdiction. Vandalism and attacks on known Death Eaters or former sympathizers of Voldemort are not uncommon.  Wards were the best option to protect the Manor from such attacks.” 

 

  A few more steps and Arthur got hold of his cape at the back of a chair ready to leave. “The chip was removed before you left for Azkaban by the way.”

    

   Draco shifted again, startled at Arthur’s knowledge of the Muggle device implanted in his body. The whole situation was nothing short of extraordinary. One of his hands ran through his hair in frustration.   

 

   “Why?” Draco asked between exasperated and intrigued.   

 

   “Why…” repeated Arthur putting his cape on.

 

   “Why the wards, why...” Draco hesitated. “Why do you care if anything happens to me or the Manor?”

 

   Arthur said nothing for a few seconds. “There are two very important reasons why your health is of concern: Hermione and John Albus. I may add my wife who is expecting the three of you tomorrow. As for the Manor it is one of the many properties seized by the Ministry, therefore protected with wards. Now that you are a free man you can claim it back with a very simple procedure at the Ministry and take care of its protection as you see fit.”

 

   “Tomorrow ...” said Draco making his voice softer. Hermione would be going to The Burrow on Saturday.

 

    “Today would be a better choice of words. It’s one hour past midnight.  Ginny or Harry could contact Hermione...” Arthur couldn’t complete the sentence.

 

    “No!” Draco exclaimed hiding without success the anxiety in his voice.

 

    “She’ll wonder, she’ll be worried.” Arthur looked at him suspiciously.

 

    Draco avoided Arthur’s stare. “I am not coming with Hermione.”

 

    “Even so, she should know. Besides I’m afraid for my own health. Molly knows I am here. If she finds out, and she will, that I have kept this from her... I won’t lie to my wife or Hermione.” There was no arguing and Draco knew it.

 

   A long silence prevailed. Draco’s breathing was laboured; he had given up on masking his emotions, forgetting he was not alone. Arthur examined him closely. Aside from his wounds, it was obvious to Arthur, Draco was dealing with something much more complex and troublesome.

 

    “If this was retaliation or revenge I should report it,” added Arthur. Draco blank expression was most informative. It seemed young Malfoy was having problems with his memory. "However, I’d leave the decision in your hands.” Arthur’s eyes appeared to see right through the young wizard.

 

     With great effort Draco swung his legs to one side of the bed and lifted himself up keeping his balance with a firm grip of his left hand wrapped tightly on the headboard.  Now that his physical pain had been conquered somewhat by the potion he ingested a few minutes ago, he was once again assaulted by the memory of his visit to Hermione’s house. His chest felt empty as his heart stopped beating when the recollection of what was said and done replayed in his head.  He remembered bits and pieces of that frantic run; try as he might, filling in the gaps evaded him. He bent his head down. His blond, untidy hair, darkened in some places by dry blood, concealed part of his features. The thin line of his lips curved down, his shoulders dropped. It was the picture of a crushed man. That Draco was not trying to conceal it astonished Arthur.

 

     “Retaliation, revenge…” Draco’s words were barely perceptible. Squaring his shoulders he turned his face to Arthur. “It must be gratifying for you, seeing me like this. Why not report it? I am sure there won’t be any tears spilled on my behalf at the Ministry, more likely a celebration of sorts,” he said bitterly.

 

    Arthur ignored Draco’s accusations. “I hope you’ll come tomorrow.”  His eyes sparkled as he continued. “Molly is letting me take the car to pick Hermione and John Albus up.”

 

   Draco kept quiet returning his glance to the floor. Arthur walked to the left side of the bed, opposite to Draco. His sorrowful voice reached the young man. “I lost a son, Draco, and life has never been the same. There are no winners or losers in a war. Death doesn’t care what side you are on. Mothers lost children, children were left orphaned, wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, friends cry each night because of the emptiness those deaths left behind.  The war changed us all. I know it changed you.”

 

   Draco stole a glance at the departing wizard. Before exiting Arthur gazed towards the little table where the vials rested. “That parchment authorizes access to Azkaban. You can visit your mother as soon as you feel strong enough to make the trip.”  Arthur left the room before Draco had a chance to react to his last words.

 

    He lowered himself to the bed. Draco’s hand fisted the blanket.  Ignoring Casper sitting on the floor he stared at the small piece of parchment behind him. He stayed motionless for an eternity.

 

     “Casper, hand me the parchment,” said Draco. 

 

    Casper’s small pointed ears were all that could be seen as he walked the perimeter of the bed to where Draco sat. Draco took the parchment from Casper’s elongated fingers. The house-elf was about to go back to his side of the bed when Draco’s raspy voice said, “Wait.”  The parchment quivered gently in Draco’s hand.  “How did I get here?” asked Draco.

 

   “Master called for Casper. Casper was afraid. Master Lucius would be mad. They saw me but young Master was hurt. I was fast!” The poor creature’s eyes were terrified.

 

   “Who saw you?”  Draco wasn’t looking at Casper. His gaze travelled past the house-elf landing on the curtained wall in front. It was as if he expected the images to imprint themselves on the fabric.

 

   “Master musn’t be mad,” Casper said scared to death.

 

    “Who saw you!” screamed Draco.

 

    “The others, Master, Mudbloods. Them were laughing. Them were not scared but Casper was, you was hurt.” Casper fell to the floor, covering his head with his filthy hands, whimpering, waiting for his punishment.

 

    An image materialized itself. The Muggle bar. He had gone back and drank himself to oblivion.  _‘No hexes or spells. This is nothing more than, a good old fashioned beating.'_ Indeed it was. He went back to finish what he had started. Men, Muggles or wizards, tended to be very protective of their women. 

 

   The parchment in his hand burned him all the way to his heart, to his very soul. His mother had shown more character and determination during the trial than Draco could have ever imagined. Narcissa came out of her self-inflicted stupor with a clarity of mind alien to Draco. Her only concern was her son. She bargained, she begged, she demanded and eventually, gave in, satisfied with the knowledge that she had done her best and although the outcome was not all that she wanted, she was relieved knowing her son would not have to endure Azkaban for long. What did she get in return? Nothing. Draco abandoned her.

 

     His gaze wandered beyond the curtained wall. The memories came. His breathing was calm, his heartbeat accelerated but just a little. No urge to run this time. The strangest of sensations showered over him. It was not peace, it was resignation, acceptance. Azkaban taught him a valuable lesson. He had been a gutless, selfish, self-serving coward and he was the first one to be blamed for it, followed by his parents. Yes, the Dementors’ visits made it perfectly clear to Draco that all the bitterness and shame in his soul had but one source: his pureblood family. Naive that he was he expected the memories of Hermione, Ron and Harry to monopolize those visits. The trio was never the source of his nightmares or his fears during his sojourn in that ghastly place. Azkaban wasn’t about childish resentments or jealousies. It wasn’t about pranks, or insults spewed like a long boring memorized poem. Azkaban exposed the raw, putrefied stench of the darkest, most painful, hidden memories, fears and pain brought about by a Dementor's insatiable thirst and the three heroes of Hogwarts played no part at all in what made Draco the man he came to be.

 

       One memory stood out this time. Dumbledore’s plea. Draco closed his eyes preparing himself for the onslaught when the most extraordinary, unexpected feeling overwhelmed him. He gasped and Casper retreated fearfully, crawling back to his spot at the other side of the bed. In the meantime Draco’s bloodied, deformed face became the stage for emotions he could barely control. The guilt was there but, and this was what disconcerted him, so was what those azure pleading orbs yearned so much for him to understand. Dumbledore knew the child standing in front of him was no murderer, that there was still hope for Draco. The Headmaster said as much and this time there were no Dementors stopping him from retrieving that hopeless hope he clung to for a short, agonizing moment as Albus Dumbledore offered Draco the possibility of a different future. The man he was taught to feel nothing but contempt for draped him with goodness and compassion and in his serene, forgiving blue eyes Draco caught a glimpse of a wizard Draco could only dream to be.

 

     Hermione  saw it too. She harvested it.  She toiled and ploughed the hardened soil of his heart. She believed in him much like Dumbledore, who refused to allow Draco to submit to a destiny he thought he had no control over. They both failed. Hogwarts was violated because of him, Dumbledore died because of him and the woman he loved, he adored had cried once more because of him.

 

      And so Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater collapsed on the floor drowning in his sobs and his wretchedness. 

 

\--- ---- --- --- ---- ----- ---- ---- ---- ----- ----- ---- ----- ---- 

 

  The sound of his knuckles on the door reached his brain and immediately after, the image of the bruised hand pounding the door felt more like an out of body experience. He had no idea why he was there, he shouldn’t be there. Draco shook his head. Nothing in the past twenty four hours made sense, least of all this. He must be going crazy or maybe there was more to his head injuries than the healer thought. He shook his head left to right and swerved on his heals and dragging his feet in a short, painful stroll widened the distance between the little house and himself.

 

   “Draco!”  Obviously it was too late.  Nicholas Aisling caught up with him and stared at Draco giving the young wizard one of his best _‘you idiot’_ eyeful.

 

    “Well, don’t you look lovely! So you couldn’t get ‘Little Mo’ to do up your face and you had to go and find somebody else to do it for him.”  Nick’s taunting was met by Draco’s vacuous glance.

 

   “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’d better go,” Draco said turning ever so slowly as his features grimaced in not so well hidden physical discomfort.

 

   Nick knew the young man well enough to know there was more to the out of the blue visit.  The older man sized up his young friend. It was a few minutes past seven. Breakfast on weekends was something Nick looked forward to. Everyone was home. He would have his first cup of tea with Maggie while reading the newspaper waiting for the first of his four daughters to slowly crawl back down until by nine or ten the symphony of his daughters’ chattering would fill his home with music, colours and contentment beyond his wildest dreams; but Nick couldn’t let Draco leave now. He had got hold of Draco by his arm and this time looked over closely at Draco’s face. His left eye was a swollen, crimson, purplish mass. Remnants of cuts and more bruises adorned his pale face and arms and a few of his white, blond strands of hair falling freely on his shoulders were tainted in what Nick presumed was blood. Draco might be working cleaning offices but the man took care of himself and his clothes were always pressed and clean. Now, however, not only did Draco look haggard but the shirt he was wearing was crumpled just like a prune, his jeans had holes in the knees and were so faded some parts were almost white. He had on dirty trainers that had seen better times. What the hell was going on?

 

   “Nick, your tea is getting cold and...” Maggie Aisling came out ready to give her husband a piece of her mind, instead she gave out a stunned gulp. “Oh my God, Draco, what happened to you!” 

 

    Maggie didn’t wait for an answer and in two quick steps she tenderly caressed Draco’s face just like a mother would. A speechless, dazed Draco was ushered inside the dwelling followed by an amused Nick. Maggie had Draco sitting at the kitchen table. She disappeared for a few seconds coming back with a first aid kit. 

 

    “Why is it that you men have to settle differences with your fists? No wonder the world is in the mess we are in!”  There was a little thread of a clear substance oozing from the corner of Draco’s damaged eye and the cuts in his face, although apparently healed were suspiciously tender and his left wrist was swollen.

 

   “What did your girlfriend have to say about this?”  Draco cringed when the piece of gauze came in contact with his eye. Instinctively he lifted his right hand but Maggie swatted it gently back down. “The poor girl!”

 

   “Maggie...”  Nick’s voice admonished his wife.

 

    Staring straight ahead Draco said in a distant, sorrowful tone. “She wasn’t there.”

 

     “Ooh,” was Maggie’s reply. 

 

   He shouldn’t have come and he had already said too much. Suddenly Draco sprang from his seat; he turned pale which in his case meant he appeared almost transparent, as everything reeled around him.

 

     Nick caught him wrapping his right arm around his mid-section, Draco bend over in pain. “Son, you need to get to a hospital.”  

 

     “No! I am fine. My apologies, I am sorry, I shouldn’t...”  Draco was sitting now, his right arm around his lower body. “A healer came; I didn’t take my potions, that’s all. I must go...” A gentle, firm grasp on his left shoulder stopped him from getting up again and the two adults in the room exchanged concerned and befuddled glances. Draco must be delirious, what the devil was he talking about?

 

    “Please, let me go. This is all wrong, I can’t stay, I must ... please.”  There was despair in the sound of his voice. Nick and Maggie swapped glances again.

 

   “Okay, come with me.”  Nick directed his next words to Maggie.  “He needs one of those herbal teas, something to help him relax and whatever we have for pain. I’ll take him to my office...”

 

    “The shed you mean, Nicholas, honestly!”  Maggie said while placing the kettle on the stove.  

 

    “My _office_ is quiet, clean and very comfortable, thank you very much! The girls make enough racket to wake the dead, ‘my office’ is the perfect place. I should know.”  Holding on to Draco, exercising care in the way he held him, Nick helped Draco walk out of the kitchen and into the backyard.

 

    Draco’s pleas fell on deaf ears.  In spite of Maggie’s objections the shed was more like a very tiny apartment-work place. It stood at the far end of the small backyard below a massive tree. There was a door right in front of it, with a window on each side and one more at the back. Nick walked in. It was cooler and peaceful. On his left all his tools hung in neat rows and underneath, a working table spanned across the wall. On the right hand side another working table stood and beneath it a shelf where he kept his power tools, and at the far end corner a small fridge. At the back on the right hand corner a little entertainment centre rested on a round, small table and right beside it there was a worn out, grey and brown, chequered day bed.

 

     Nick deposited his cargo on the day bed, placing a small cushion behind Draco’s head. This time Draco didn’t need any prompting; he lied down closing his eyes. Dragging a working bench Nick sat crossing his arms around his chest. The older man kept quiet for a few minutes. There was understanding and compassion in his features.

 

    “What did you two row about?” Nick asked. Draco turned his face towards Nick. From the corner of his one healthy eye the young wizard gave Nick a questioning glance. “It must have been a big one for you to get blasted and then be stupid enough to pick a fight with blokes bigger and stronger than you. If she was mad before, now she is going to be royally pissed, my friend.”   

 

  Draco gave Nick a perplexed glance. “Don’t look at me like that. I was once young, in love and stupid like you. I was also angry, confused and in too much pain to realize how foolish I’d been.”  Nick almost smiled but stopped himself from doing it. He remembered what it felt like and he also remembered how close he came to lose it all.

 

    Draco pushed himself to a seating position; everything was spinning out of control, including his life. How could Nick possibly know, what did he know? _‘Fuck, I just blurted out...fuck, fuck’_ He dropped his head, brushing his hair with the fingers of his healthy hand. He was overpowered by hopelessness and wild confusion. The beating of his heart felt more like a trapped animal clawing its way to freedom; it was out of control. His eyelids were heavy from lack of proper sleep and his cuts and broken bones throbbed with pain. Had he taken his potions... 

    

     “How do you know? How could you?”   Draco asked without lifting his head up, not wanting Nick to see the fear in his eyes.

 

     The only sounds that could be heard were the intermittent chirping of the birds and Draco’s irregular breathing. Nick hesitated before responding to Draco’s question. He had known Draco for a little more than a year. Something made him take those fake papers and hire the troubled young man without asking any questions. It was, perhaps, the boy’s eyes: empty, longing. There was also that scar in his left arm, an attempt to erase the reminder of a shameful past; Nick knew all about that too. The way Draco kept to himself and thwarted inquiries about his personal life. Or maybe because ultimately Nick saw his old self in Draco. 

 

   Years ago, during the darkest time of his life someone saw past his facade and gave him hope and a new life. Something told him he was supposed to give Draco that same opportunity. He had been careful though. His own experience taught him to have patience and exercise extreme caution when approaching a wounded young man like Draco. Closing his eyes, Nick prayed silently for the right words and answered Draco’s questions.

 

    “I don’t know what made you knock on my door. You can tell me or not, it doesn’t matter. I do know though what it feels like to have your back against the wall, to think there is nowhere to go; to feel such anger and shame you end up hurting those you love because  you think they’d be better off without you. I know about nightmares and guilt and sleepless nights. I know, Draco.”  Draco raised his head. Nick held his gaze. His suspicion turned out to be correct, at least some of it. The bewilderment in Draco was obvious but so was his exhaustion.

 

   As if reading his mind a timid knock on the door announced Maggie’s presence. Tenderness and concern flowed from her clear auburn eyes to Draco. Without speaking Nick helped her with the tray and the bag hanging precariously from one of her shoulders. Nick stepped aside, it was Maggie’s turn to work her magic on his tormented friend.

   

   “Take your shirt off. I have a feeling I won’t be surprised of what I may find underneath.”  Draco hesitated. “I could be your mother, you know. Don’t be silly, off, off with it.” Maggie leaned over and helped Draco. She caught her breath as Draco’s bruised torso came into view. “Well, nothing I haven’t seen before.”  Expertly she wrapped Draco’s upper body with a long gauzelike cloth, tightening it as firmly as she could without causing too much discomfort. “Put this on, it's one of Nick’s;  it’s clean and much more presentable. Your trousers had seen better days, these will do, I think.”

 

   Sitting beside Draco she then took hold of his wounded wrist and bandaged it with a long thin strip of cloth she retrieved from the bag sitting on the floor. “The girls go through these at least four or five times every other month. It happens when you have sports crazed children.”  

 

   Maggie proceeded to dab some of Draco’s cuts with an antibacterial ointment. Draco twisted his face. “Serves you right for using your fists instead of common sense, honestly! And what did it get you? Answer me that!” Her hand caressed Draco’s face brushing his blond strands away from his face. It was a gentle, motherly touch. 

 

     “Have some tea and take these for the pain.”  She handed him two pills; Draco placed them in his mouth and took the cup of tea sipping some of the liquid. Maggie prompted him to finish it all up, which he did.  “Now, lay down.”

 

   “Mrs. Aisling I couldn’t... really I...”  Maggie smiled and rose. With both hands on Draco’s shoulders she pushed him down. She took the battered blanket from the back of the couch and covered him with it and then sat by his side running her hand through his hair as she said softly. “Close your eyes, Draco. It’s going to be okay.” It wasn’t long before Draco had fallen into exhausted slumber.

 

    Maggie stood up. Nick embraced her. “Did he tell you anything?”  She asked lifting her face up.

 

   “No, but he didn’t have to.  He thinks he is alone and that no one understands or cares enough to understand or forgive him. He is one of yours, my angel, just like I was.”  

 

    “Not mine, more like Dad’s,” she said resting her head on his chest.

 

    Nick brushed his lips against her temple. “Your Dad might have given me a second chance but you... you were the reason I worked so hard at it, Maggie, you...”  Maggie’s index finger silenced his lips.

 

    “It is all in the past, Nicky.” She kissed him tenderly. As they made their way out she glanced at the sleeping figure on the couch and said, “He’ll sleep for a while. He needs more rest than anything else. What do you think happened?”

 

    “Nothing you haven’t heard or seen before and of course there is this girl...” Nick closed the door and walked hand in hand with Maggie back to the house adding, “There’s always a girl. I just hope she has what it takes otherwise his chances ...”

 

    Maggie glanced back and she too prayed and hoped.


	23. <b>Chapter 23</b>

  
Author's notes:

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  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:** **Many thanks to my wonderful** **_beta Indie_.** **Best Beta in the whole fanfic universe!**

**My beta has computer problems. We managed to edit some of this chapter but not all of it. If there are mistakes forgive us both. I finished chapter 24 but until Indie resolves her issues with her computer you all may have to wait a while.**

**I am also translating this story to Spanish and reading fics in my own language and frankly I'm having too much fun doing both.**

**Merry Christmas, ¡Feliz Navidad! and a most blessed Happy New Year.  ¡Feliz Año Nuevo!   Thanks again for stopping by.**

**Elena**

 

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**Chapter 23: Filling In The Gaps.**

 

 Well before the sun insinuated itself in the firmament or birds came out of their slumber, Hermione sat on one of the steps leading to the her parents' backyard.  Although, opposite to the happily boisterous feathered creatures, she met the rising sun in a deep somber mood, more like utter despair. Sitting on the steps leading to the backyard she hugged her legs with her chin resting between her knees.

    

  Hermione Granger had replayed Friday’s events hundreds of times in her head, every gesture, every word.  As she relived those moments she sank deeper and deeper into despondency and shame. The crying stopped as soon as Candice came back to the house with John Albus. Hermione’s features mimicked smiles and a semblance of contentment but it all felt more like she was wearing some sort of concoction on her face, something more like a mask made out of plaster already dry and fracturing at every painful attempt to act as if nothing had happened. She hadn’t cried since.

 

 Her nightmares came back and so did that awful feeling of foreboding she lived with ever since the war ended. Her mum put her to bed in spite of Hermione’s refusal to be treated like a small child.  Candice sat beside her daughter caressing her hair in silent worry.  Oh how Hermione had wished for that loving touch to chase all her sorrows away! How she longed to be held by her parents and cry without restrain as she used to do those first months back with them. She refused to allow more turmoil into their lives. They deserved better than what Draco and she had dumped at their doorstep. 

 

 Which brought Draco to mind. She felt powerless, afraid and infuriated with Draco and herself.  What was she supposed to do? One thing she was certain of was that marriage to the prince of Slytherin in the present circumstances would be the biggest mistake of her life. Draco’s behaviour frightened her and made her see red at the same time. Not because she had never seen him angry or despondent before. As their relationship evolved, barriers came down and pretenses were partially forgotten. Later on she learned when and how far to push him. In his own way at his own time Draco would open up and allow her in. At that time it was them against a common enemy, now it was different. She could not take his intimidating remarks and insults, no matter how much he was hurting. Threatening her with taking John Albus away from her, bringing up those articles, made her feel cheap...unloved.  Not even in his darkest moments did Draco attack her like that before. Was this is it? Was she dealing with the ‘Draco, pure-blood heartless bastard’ she loathed during school?  Was she supposed to fight him or fight for him, for them? The thought of giving up annoyed her. Losing him would tear her apart. She took her face in her hands and let out an angered groan. 

 

  “Is it safe to come out? That grunt sounded ominous.” John Granger held two cups in his hands and, offering one to his daughter, he sat beside her.

 

 John glanced at his daughter through the corner of his eye. Hermione had been avoiding eye contact with her parents since the day before. Naturally she had been quiet and withdrawn after Mr. Malfoy’s departure, devoting her attention to her son, interacting very little with them. He related to Candice some of what transpired in her absence leaving out the most unpleasant parts. His wife was a force to reckon with when it came to her one and only child particularly since Hermione came looking for them in Australia. Days ago the Weasleys and Mr. Potter were swear words in the Granger’s household; after Draco’s performance on Friday, Mr. Malfoy was at the top of the list of Candice’s most despised people. 

 

 Staring at the grey sky up above John struggled with what to say. His daughter’s tears ripped him apart, transporting him back to a time not too long ago, when Hermione’s nightmares and sobs were an almost every day ordeal. Listening and watching the young couple left him with more questions than answers and more to worry about. He had waited, observed and listened, giving space to Hermione, letting her deal with the new developments in her life mostly because he couldn’t help but feel inadequate. The world she was part of was as foreign to him as the moons orbiting around Jupiter. Nevertheless, her magical world had reached all the way to his world, like waves reaching the seashore leaving behind them reminders not only of the beauty beneath it but of the rubbish it stored. One thing he learned as of yesterday was that Draco’s and Hermione’s relationship needed some explaining from her. That she loved Draco, John had no doubt; that Draco had feelings for her and their son was obvious but there was more to the young wizard’s  behaviour, something darker and, for the life of him, John couldn’t help but fear of what that might be. He stole another glance at Hermione holding her cup of tea feigning preoccupation with its content.

 

 “Did you sleep at all?” he asked casually.

 

  “A little,” answered Hermione softly without moving or looking at her father.

 

  “You brought the monitor with you. I haven’t seen that thing in ages!” He picked the baby monitor while his eyes smiled. “I’d bet you will be able to hear him without it.”

 

 Hermione's bedroom window faced the backyard. Her father was right, but having the monitor with her kept John Albus closer. Silly, but it gave her comfort. For a few moments no words were spoken. Refraining from looking at her father she said, “I am sorry, Dad, about yesterday. I shouldn’t have let him come into the house.”

 

  “And confront him by yourself? I don’t think so, Hermione.”  His eyes clung to the hunched figure of his daughter. Her wild hair hid her face from her him.

 

 Hermione deposited the cup beside her and folded her arms tightly around her chest staring straight ahead. “I was never in danger. Draco would never hurt me”

 

 “He did yesterday in the worst possible way and yet you told us you love each other very much. He feels something for you. I’m not sure it is love. Whatever it is I don’t want it for my daughter. Death Eater... sounds frightening.” He wanted to know more about what Draco meant by calling himself something so sinister. “I can’t imagine you’d be involved with someone associated with...”

 

 Hermione’s  fingers grasp the fabric of the back of her robe tightly. Her dad’s remarks stung. “It was not like that, Dad!”  She exclaimed defensibly. Hugging herself still she stood up and faced her bedroom window, once again avoiding her father’s eyes. “I...we just...it is such a complex story, so many twists and turns!”  Biting her bottom lip she hesitated for a few moments, no sure what to say next.

 

 John rose and took her by the shoulders. “Then help us understand!” He implored, almost demanded, in a soft but firm voice. 

 

  John held her face in his loving hands compelling Hermione to look at him. “ ‘The Heroine of Hogwarts’, the right hand of the boy who defeated the Dark Lord... He fought for the other side, didn’t he?” Hermione stiffened and although John was ignorant of most of what happened during the war her chocolate eyes spoke volumes about his assertion. “That’s why you never mentioned him in your letters, isn’t it?”  

 

  She had decided in the course of the past few days to relate to her parents everything she kept from them. She thought Harry and his story would be a good introduction, followed by the Horcrux hunt and the war. Hermione imagined she and Draco would be together when the time came to talk about their story so that her parents would feel at ease with them as a couple. How was she supposed to do it now? Why would they believe he was a changed man?

 

 “Draco and I never exchanged words, at least pleasant words until...” And so Hermione told her father about Draco, the pampered, bigoted, cowardly boy she learned to despise and ignore all of her school years. That of course forced Hermione to tell John about Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy and their connection to Voldemort. She gave a more detailed account of her friendship with Harry, Ron and Ginny and how they became involved in the fight against Voldemort even before the evil wizard’s return was finally acknowledged. John listened closely without interrupting, storing every detail in his memory, saving his questions for later, feeling overwhelmed by what Hermione kept from them. 

 

 Her friendship with the Weasleys and Harry Potter meant the world to her. That much was obvious not only in the manner in which their fall out affected her but by the way her eyes shone as she reminisced about them and her school years. From Harry’s messy hair, Ron’s insatiable appetite, to the Weasleys' home, Mrs. Weasley’s cooking, to Fred and George’s jocularity, to the school itself: Hogwarts, its professors and students. Harry and the youngest Weasley boy were all she wrote about in her letters to her parents.  Her friendship with Harry Potter and the Weasleys could only be compared to that of love for family. She forfeited finishing school not only because the wizarding world was submerged in a war but because her loyalty to her world and to her friends had no limits. Pride and sadness swelled his heart. 

 

 The monitor came to life; a baby’s muffled cry pulled father and daughter back into reality.  Hermione was at the door in a short moment but the sound of her mother’s comforting words stilled her. John Albus asked for mummy. “Mummy is right outside, my prince, let’s change really quickly and we’ll go find her.”  John Albus must have agreed. His distorted giggles and playful screams coming through the monitor forced a troubled smile on Hermione's face. She turned back. Her father patted the spot beside him and Hermione accepted the invitation. John’s left arm held her against him tightly. She let herself slide down and laid her head in his lap. 

 

 “Mum needs to hear this too.” John’s hand ran up and down her arm.

 

 “What comes next...” She was already at Bill’s and Fleur’s wedding, the last time they all had been relatively happy. Knowing what was coming stopped her from continuing and she said, “I tried to spare you from all of it.”

 

 “We never asked; it was not important to know then. It all has changed. We want and we need to know.” But was she ready?  Was his daughter strong enough to speak out loud about it and not fall apart?  He couldn’t fathom what she had gone through, even after her nightmares and the scars he saw on her body.

 

 For Hermione the time had come. Her parents deserved the truth and she had made a promise to them. Still she felt guilty for what they were about to hear but she was ready. Here in the safety of her home, away from it all she could summon up those images. What would her parents think or feel once they knew the whole story?  Would they react as Harry and Ron did?

Would they understand? Would she disappoint them even more?

 

 John Albus’s little voice reached them.  She rose and welcomed her son in her arms. Her reason for living was the tiny body clinging to her. Her son, Draco’s son. No, she would never allow regret and shame to stain what she and Draco found in each other, not when something as precious and innocent as the child in her arms became the symbol of that love. Lightning stroke her all of a sudden.  She loved the arrogant, selfish, cowardly bastard Slytherin and she’d be damned if Draco Malfoy got the last word. Reason for living... Living as what? Limited to what? Breathing?  It may have sufficed before, not now. John Albus kept her afloat when she had nothing to hang on to when she walked out on magic and now her son gave her the will to fight for her relationship with his father and, hell, because she loved the man! Forget Hogwarts, Ron, Harry and the lot of them.  She wanted, she needed and she was in love with Draco Malfoy. She would fight for him and against him not only to rescue and strengthen what they felt for each other but also to help Draco defeat whatever hold those demons she knew all too well had on a man who no longer ascribed to the beliefs which brought his pure blood family to its knees. She may lose this war and it might tear her apart, so be it. At the end of the day she would be able to look at her son knowing that she gave it all. 

 

 Holding on to John Albus Hermione took stock of her parents. Candice's dark blond hair was kept away from her face in a messy ponytail. Her honey eyes sparkled in the morning light and her fine, distinguished features reflected her fears, anger and boundless love for her daughter.  John’s gaze lingered on his wife’s face. His eyes spoke volumes. He nestled his wife in his arms and kissed her brow tenderly. Candice leaned on her husband and both turned to face Hermione.

 

  Three sets of eyes interlocked. Those little gestures shared by her parents made her feel envious and warm inside.  As she grew up and then left her home for Hogwarts the concept of being in love and in a relationship was an abstract notion. Her parents' marriage, she took for granted. The whole idea of ever being in love and being loved by a man never crossed her mind.  Whatever she felt for Ron would not qualify for either. She was never in love with him, and Ron ... Ron’s feelings for her, whatever they were, paled compared to his lack of self-esteem, jealousy and immaturity. Those sentiments were stronger in him than the so called love he claimed he felt for her.

 

 She doubted her parents’ love story had as painful and traumatic a beginning as Draco’s and hers. For the past few years she found herself paying attention to them as husband and wife, as father and mother. Even the elder Weasleys sneaked in a few times as she reflected on marriage and having a family of her own after John’s birth. She wanted what they had, and now that Draco had come back she wanted it with him.

 

  John Albus had abandoned his mother’s arms and sat happily beside his grandmother who had brought his bowl of cereal with her. Hermione's bottom lip was pulled by her teeth, the hesitation in her voice was apparent as she started the account of the most traumatic years of her life. “After Dumbledore’s death...” 

    

 Hermione’s tale of the Horcrux hunt made chills run down John’s spine. Candice, afraid to say too much, closed her eyes and listened quietly, holding tight to her husband. Hermione would pause for longs periods of time, stare ahead, and then continue speaking softly, her tone steady.  It was during her account of the events previous to the escape from Malfoy Manor that Hermione’s voice faltered many times. Up to that point her story had been filled with details, not so with Malfoy Manor. Was it because it involved the Malfoys, particularly Draco? It was their home, they had opened it to an evil wizard they pledged loyalty to the death. The Malfoys were there. At their master’s bidding, they facilitated and took active part in the horrors his daughter witnessed and was victim of; because even though Hermione didn’t out right say it, John was certain now. She didn’t escape unscathed. As John listened, one of Hermione’s nightmares suddenly materialized in his mind. He had held her while she had shouted and cried in his arms, convulsing in terror. Her words were meaningless at the time; not anymore.  John had an idea of what they might mean. Of all her night-terrors and bad dreams that one was a constant for many months after Hermione’s return. 

 

 As she approached the final battle, a mentally exhausted Hermione chose to sit a metre or so away from her parents. Her gaze lingered on her son playing in the sandbox. Her hands came together in a tight hold on top of her lap, her eyes followed John Albus’s movements nervously and her voice sketched, coloured and brought to life the battle of Hogwarts with such accuracy that John and Candice could almost hear the cries, smell the carnage and destruction and feel first the despair and then the elation as Harry Potter stood triumphant by the corpse of Tom Riddle. 

 

  Hermione stood up and walked slowly towards her son and kissed his head. The sun shone on his white blonde hair and again Draco invaded her thoughts. Aware of his mother’s presence John Albus tugged at the hem of her robe and Hermione sat beside him. Hermione couldn’t help but feel nostalgic after her account of some of what she and her friends went through.

 

 It was wonderful talking to Neville, seeing McGonagall again, riding the Hogwarts Express and having Ginny and Harry to count on. Yes, wonderful, because magic gave her more than what happened the last few years, much more. It was a better world; she saw it during her visit at Hogsmeade. All of Harry’s suffering and sacrifice was worth it, if only he could see it and understand it! He would never be ostracized or demonized because of who he was or whom he loved, unlike her and Draco... and their son. The wizarding world might be a better place and dark magic reduced to a bad memory but not so the thirst for revenge and punishment. How was she supposed to protect her son from it? Why couldn’t Draco understand her qualms about going back?  Where was he, how was he? What exactly happened to him on Thursday? And was he really planning on taking John Albus from her? She cradled her face in her hands.  She let out a big sigh, straightened herself and rose. She had made a decision and everything depended on it. She was scared to death. She had no idea what to do next or what to expect from Draco; all she was sure of was that she wasn’t giving up on them, not without a fight.

 

  “Mummy has lots to do before our visit to The Burrow, young man, so what will it be, helping mummy sort the laundry or clean our bedroom?” She asked extending her hand to her son who took it grinning.  Sorting laundry with mummy was always fun.

 

  John and Candice stood up, both scrutinizing their daughter. What they just heard disturbed and saddened them. Little by little the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. John knew that the one piece which would reveal the whole picture was Draco Malfoy.  John also knew that pushing Hermione into a corner because of Mr. Malfoy would be a big mistake, which would, most likely, drive her away from them, and while he dared express some of his misgivings about the man at the end of the day, it was Hermione’s decision. 

 

  Hermione stood in front of her parents and said, “I haven’t finished, I know, but it’s already midmorning and John and I have something planned for this afternoon and we are behind schedule.”  She looked exhausted and yet there was this something in her eyes. Relief, resolve?  For the first time John gazed into his daughter’s dark brown eyes and what he saw made his heart skip a beat. He wasn’t sure what was there. Her gaze lingered long enough for him to see it again.  Aside from all the expected feelings after everything that she had gone through in the past days, one new, unexpected emotion stood out: Hermione Jean Granger was getting ready for a fight. He had seen that determination before, mostly as she tackled her insatiable need to be the best and outperform her peers. Apprehension aside, that glint in her eyes gave him hope. Maybe Hermione would fare well after all was said and done.

 

  “Are you still going to the Weasleys’?”  Candice couldn’t hide her concern. 

 

  “Mum, if you knew Mrs. Weasley the way I do you wouldn’t be worried at all. Besides, I kind of feel like showing off my beautiful son. He already has one gorgeous redhead wrapped around his finger; I can’t wait until Mrs. Weasley falls prey to his charm,” Hermione said with pride.

 

  “Hmmm, my grandson, the charmer,” John said mockingly. His teasing gaze lingered on Hermione as he continued. “My daughter, the warrior princess. I think the Weasleys are no match at all.”

 

 Candice rolled her eyes disapprovingly. Climbing the three steps back to the kitchen she voiced her opinion about their playful attitude. “You’ve go to be kidding! After what you just learned you can still joke about it?”  She scolded her husband.  “I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you two but for the first time I wish I knew how to use a bloody wand!”  She went inside banging the door.

 

  Hermione’s tone held light amusement as she spoke. “Lucky us, I have no idea where my wand is.”  

 

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ 

 

  Ginny Weasley knocked at the Grangers' door glancing back at her father who was waiting expectantly in the car. After her short encounter with Hermione at Hogsmeade they were all worried about her friend. Never in her wildest dreams could she have predicted the developments which followed as she confronted Hermione at The Last Page. Certainly not Neville’s face in her fireplace summoning Ginny to Hogsmeade. Ginny’s first impulse was to go after Draco. The fragility of her renewed friendship with Hermione made her think twice about making minced meat out of the ferret, so she ranted and said a few choice words before taking Hermione back home. Harry, on the other hand, had reacted as expected. It took a long time until both Ginny and Molly calmed him down enough for him to actually listen to reason. Thank Merlin Hermione had insisted Harry acquire a mobile phone so that he could reach her at any time!

 

  He eventually called her. Ever the protector, Harry persuaded Hermione to keep her mobile with her at all times. He even came up with a secret code she could use to communicate with Harry if things got out hand with Draco. Ginny could almost envision Hermione rolling her eyes at Harry’s precautions. That’s why Ginny, Molly and Harry heard most of what went on Friday evening at Hermione’s place. Hermione had turned her mobile on, reached Harry using speed dial, waited for Harry to pick up and then pushed the bottoms twice meaning, Draco was there and Hermione wasn’t sure if she would need Harry. One long tone and Harry would be at her place in a matter of seconds.

 

  The door opened, revealing a flushed, slightly out of breath Candice Granger. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Granger” Ginny greeted her in her best respectful tone.

 

  Candice’s answer came after she took a brief look back to the living room and then returned her annoyed gaze to Ginny. “Hermione thought you were coming later...they are not ready,” she said sharply.

 

 Before Ginny could answer a child’s giggle reached both women. Candice turned around forgetting to invite Ginny in and went back inside. “There you are! Come here, you little devil.”  

 

  John Albus stood by the kitchen entrance in only his nappies, grinning mischievously. Ginny forgot all about Candice and her frigid welcome and followed her inside. “Hello, John!”

 

 John ran to the kitchen hiding behind the counter. Candice let out a frustrated sigh. She was holding John Albus’s outfit in one hand his shoes in the other. Ginny understood immediately what was going on. The young witch  said out loud winking at Candice, “Too bad John can not come with us. I guess it’s only Hermione. More chocolate cake for us and oh...all those toys! There is this one cool dinosaur...”

 

  Ginny was almost out the door when John slammed into her. “Are you coming too?”  she asked with a straight face.

 

 John nodded yes. “I’m sorry but you are not dressed,” declared Ginny looking directly into the toddler’s grey eyes, controlling the urge to pick him up and shower him with kisses; he was absolutely adorable!

 

  John seized his clothes from Candice and offered them to Ginny, who proceeded to sit on the couch. “Very well then, let's get you ready. Mummy is coming out any minute now.”

 

  Candice’s features softened slowly as she watched her grandson and Ginny interact.  Hermione was right; John Albus had the beautiful redhead wrapped around his fingers. Without Candice being aware of it, her lips pulled upward. 

 

 “Now, you certainly look very handsome. Hmmm...”  Ginny paused, “shall we brush your hair?”

 

  Candice handed him the brush which John eagerly gave to Ginny. As Ginny brushed John Albus’s hair she lifted her gaze. “My mum can’t wait to see him. I told her Hermione said not too many sweets, but do you think Mum listened? There are cakes and sweets to feed a whole army! And toys! I told Harry John loves dinosaurs, guess what? Harry goes to Muggle London and brings back a whole toy store with him! Is the same with Teddy, his godson. Harry can’t help himself...”  

 

  In the middle of Ginny’s tale John Granger had come into the living room. “Mr. Granger, how are you?”  

 

 Ginny rose to greet him but John motioned her to sit down. “Good to see you again, Ginny. Do continue, please. Hermione is almost ready.” John perched himself on the arm of the armchair Candice was sitting.

 

  “I was just rambling, sorry.” She was caressing John Albus’s head. Turning her attention to her young friend and her unfinished task she said, “You have the most beautiful hair John, so soft... Shall I tie it or you want it loose? On second thought better keep it away from your face.”  Ginny tied it gently. 

 

  John glanced back to his grandparents. “You do look very handsome, darling.” Candice added looking at Ginny, “Thank you.”

 

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take over like that,” Ginny said while John sat on her lap.

 

  Candice shook her head.  “No, I mean thank you for coming to my daughter’s rescue yesterday.” John squeezed Candice’s shoulder. “We both thank you,” he said echoing his wife’s words and sentiments.

 

  The statement surprised Ginny.  “Neville, a classmate of ours, he is a professor at Hogwarts. He contacted me. Good thing he did, had it been Harry... Mind you I’d rather had gone after the ferret and hexed his pureblood as...”  Ginny covered her mouth with her hand, blushing. “Oh Merlin! I am doing it again, aren’t I? Forgive me, I didn’t mean...” 

 

  “Don’t apologize for wanting to kill that bastard,” Candice said, pleased to have someone else sharing her feelings. “It made me sick to my stomach having to restrain my self and not wipe that hateful smirk off his face.” The young witch couldn’t help but smile in agreement. 

 

  The comfortable silence which followed was broken by Candice who for the first time looked at Ginny without resentment or mistrust.  “Just promise me, Ginny, you’ll never hurt her again, ever. What happened almost killed her, were it not for John Albus... She has forgiven you, I am not sure I can completely. I am trying to understand how you could make my daughter run away in shame and sorrow and now this...I don’t know what to make of that man.” For the first time Candice opened her heart almost as if thinking out loud.

 

  “Mrs. Granger, I solemnly promise you, Harry and I will never hurt her again.” John Albus played at Ginny’s feet, making his growling sounds. The young witch glanced at him, hugging John with her eyes and then continued speaking. “All we want for Hermione is to be happy, here or in the wizarding world.”

 

  “Not with that man; he doesn’t love her. If you could have seen him. I can’t wrap my head around those two. Hermione, my daughter, in love with someone so repulsive, a criminal from a family of bigots and sociopaths!”  The desperation in Candice’s voice was not what startled Ginny. It was the realization that Hermione’s relationship with Malfoy had opponents in both worlds and that the Grangers knew about Malfoy’s past. 

 

  John Granger interceded for the first time. Taking a peek behind him, making sure Hermione was still behind closed doors in her bedroom, he said in a hushed voice. “Candy, you’ve got to control yourself. We all need to keep our feelings in check and be very careful with what we say or do,” he emphasized looking at Ginny.     

 

  The three adults in the room shared the quiet for a few moments. As much as Ginny shared Candice’s sentiments about Malfoy, losing Hermione again because of Draco was unthinkable. On the other hand, Malfoy’s behaviour the night before complicated everything, making it harder for them not to be concerned and enraged.

 

  “Hermione is one amazing witch. You both have no idea what she means to Harry and me. Her loyalty is such that in spite of everything, even her present fears, she still can come to the rescue of her friends without hesitation. We won’t interfere or judge her but...”  Hazel eyes darkened as she continued, “I swear to you, Malfoy will not hurt them. He raises one hand, he tries to make good of his threats and he’ll be sorry for the rest of his life, I promise you.”

 

  “Both of you! This is not about Draco, it’s about Hermione.” John’s commanding voice, even if just more than a whisper took Ginny aback. “We are talking about our daughter, not about revenge or trying to make amends.” He spoke directly to Ginny, sending a message beyond the walls of the Grangers’ household. “You are not to do anything without talking to us first. You messed things up before big time and I won’t allow  any of you to do it again.! She’s opening up, we learned things today about those years at Hogwarts and during the war, and I don’t need to go into details, Miss Weasley, because I am sure you experienced most of it. We will respect whatever decisions she makes.  We have opened our home to you because my daughter wishes it to be so. You have not earned our trust or forgiveness yet and you are certainly not going to do it by making unilateral decisions on Hermione’s behalf, am I clear, Miss Weasley? Don’t presume to know what is best for my daughter!” All softness and ease have flown out of John Granger’s being. Ginny got the message loud and clear.

 

  “Ginny!” Hermione cheerful voice broke the tense silence engulfing them. John Albus ran to his mum, holding on to her hand. Ginny picked up John’s favourite toy and rose to greet Hermione.

 

 “Sorry we came so early. We should have called.” Ginny’s demeanor made Hermione aware of the tension in the room.

 

  “It’s something the matter?” she directed the question to her parents.

 

  Candice stood up and walked to the kitchen ignoring Hermione’s question. John rose too glancing towards the kitchen and then answered Hermione’s inquiry. “Nothing is the matter,” he replied trying his best to sound relaxed.

 

  But Hermione was not convinced. “Is it Harry? Ginny?”

 

  “Harry is fine, Hermione.”  Ginny forced a smile. “Mum is keeping him busy.”

 

  Hermione then questioned her father. “Dad?”

 

  John was about to answer when Candice came back holding a container. “Here you go, Hermione, I wrapped them all individually so they won’t stick together.”

 

  “Thanks, Mum,” she replied gliding her inquisitive eyes from John to Candice to Ginny. Whatever it was, she would ask Ginny later. “Shall we go?”

 

  Hermione took the tray of cookies and Ginny took John’s hand. “Oh wait!” Hermione exclaimed. “The car sit!” Then she asked "Ginny, You said ‘we’. Who drove the car?”

 

 “Dad drove,” responded Ginny. In reality they flew but why bother with semantics.

 

 Hermione almost dropped the tray on the sofa and opened the front door. Mortified she gave Ginny one of her scary stares. “You left your Dad waiting in the car! For how long?” 

 

 “Not long, really! He though it best to wait in the car,” Ginny said in her best conciliatory tone.

 

  Hermione glanced back to the figure inside the magical automobile, giving an exasperated sigh. Turning her attention to her parents and Ginny, she stared at them. John saw the wheels turning in her head. What was she thinking?

 

  “Don’t worry about the car seat either, Harry bought one, that and much more, wait and see.”  Ginny picked up the tray with cookies as she finished her sentence and made her way to the front door. “Thanks again, Mrs. and Mr. Granger, for the nice chat. It was good to see you again.” 

 

  As Ginny made her way to the 1983 Lonsdale,  Arthur proceeded to come out and open the back door.

 

  Candice and Hermione, holding on to John Albus, followed Ginny, while John stayed behind. The young Weasley stared directly into his eyes as she departed. She acknowledged his warning but not without that hint of mischief and defiance he was beginning to identify with Ginevra Weasley. He laughed internally. He’d better remember whom he was dealing with, certainly not any regular nineteen year old but a seasoned, tested warrior, whom he started to think of as a powerful, beautiful witch.  Yes, he liked Ginny Weasley.

 

  Hermione embraced Arthur as soon as she stood in front of him. He nodded blushing while keeping his hands on her shoulders. “So good of you to come, Hermione” He then addressed John and Candice. “Thank you both.”

 

 It was such heartfelt statement, behind which so much more was said and implied that Candice couldn’t help herself. “Promise me ... you won’t hurt her again, please. Don’t let that Malf...” She stopped before finishing her sentence. 

 

  Hermione had spun around to gape at Candice, too astonished to respond to her mother’s outburst. 

 

 “I give you my word.”  Arthur held her gaze and looking steadily at John Granger standing behind her, Arthur dipped his head before he took his place at the front of the wheel.

 

 Hermione hugged and kissed both her parents and then sat in the front seat already deep in thought. Ginny had taken care of John Albus and placed the tray of cookies on her lap. After a few false starts, the car turned its wheels steering away. Ginny turned and waved happily to the Grangers, displaying a wide smile on her face. John Granger laughed out loud.


	24. <b>Chapter 24</b>

  
Author's notes:

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**Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling is the creator of the Harry Potter series and the rightful owner of anything which has to do with her books.**

 

**A/N:** **Many, many thanks to my _beta Indie_ for her constant support and amazing editing.**

 

**So Hermione is finally at The Burrow.**

 

**My workload has increased and so has my stress level therefore next update won't be coming any time soon.  If you are a new reader, rest easy.  This story has an end,  it just will take a bit longer.**

 

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**Chapter 24:  Of Tea, Brooms And Wands.**

 

    The ride and then the flight to The Burrow were lost to Hermione, who barely spoke the few times Arthur addressed her. Respecting her silence Arthur kept quiet. Her son’s delight as the car, invisible to non-magical folk, took off, was missed by a very pensive, withdrawn Hermione. Ever since she became  a student at Hogwarts, she’d been at The Burrow more often and for longer periods of times than she had at her parents’ home, so much so that  The Burrow had become her home away from home, and the Weasleys her surrogate family,  yet the pounding in her chest made her feel otherwise. The Weasleys had opened their home and their hearts, no questions asked; and there she was, shivering inside, in spite of the warm, sunny afternoon, twisting and turning her hands, hyperventilating at the thought of going back. 

 

   Their descent was smooth. The fog in her mind dissipated and Hermione opened her eyes realizing she have kept them closed for most of her trip. Automatically she opened the door, swung her legs to the side and without getting out of the car she turned her head a hundred eighty degrees surveying her surroundings. Nothing had changed. The grass, tall and wild, needed cutting, the chicken coop and the garage were as run down as she remembered. The broom shed’s door hung from one of its hinges and a few garden gnomes ran for cover. She closed her eyes again letting the sounds and smells overtake her. 

 

   Ginny, holding John in her arms, was waiting patiently for Hermione to gather her thoughts and composure. Arthur had gone inside the house, taking the cookies with him. Impatient to get down, John Albus struggled with Ginny, who eventually gave up and freed him. For a few seconds the youngster examined everything around him, distancing himself a metre or so from the car until he walked towards his mother and climbed on her lap. Hermione put him down in a matter of seconds and came out of the car. Holding John Albus’s hand, she started walking towards the house. Molly stood at the front door entwining her fingers with her apron. A silhouette towered behind Molly. 

 

     Molly, same as when they met at The Last Page, took Hermione in her arms as soon as the young woman was within arms’ reach. “Welcome home, dear,” she said with the widest grin on her face and her eyes glistening with tears. Bending her head down, she greeted her other guest. “And you must be John Albus.”

 

   Holding on to Hermione’s right leg, John Albus gave Molly a weary glance and then... “Baney!”  he screamed running into the house startling everyone.

 

   The three women went inside and found John Albus holding a huge, purple dinosaur.  “Mummy, Baney!” shouted the baby, who  –Hermione noticed–  was surrounded by a mountain of toys.

 

   Hermione made her way to the foot of the stairs where John Albus sat hugging his toy. Sitting on one of the crooked steps Hermione gave her hosts an amused and curious glance. 

 

   “I thought Muggle toys would be best for John Albus. I wasn’t sure about magical ones.”  Harry had come from behind Arthur, who stood by the kitchen door. As he spoke his gaze fell upon the toddler and then to Hermione. Both friends looked at each other for a short moment. Harry approached them and knelt, facing his friend and her child and then he sat down crossing his legs never taking his eyes off John Albus. Harry picked another toy, a very impressive imitation of a T Rex. “What do you think of this one? I’d bet mine can beat yours any time, and look! You have books! You can’t be Hermione’s son and not like books!” John Albus slid towards Harry and started pointing at the pictures, casting a grey cautious glance at the green eyed stranger, who apparently liked the same books he did. Harry started reading to him, mimicking the voices and sounds of the story.

 

 All eyes were on the two figures on the floor. In a way it was a momentous occasion for Arthur and Molly. The first Malfoy to ever set foot in The Burrow. An innocent, little boy, oblivious to the bitter history between the two families. 

 

   “Hello, Harry.” Hermione was smiling as she greeted her friend. “Remember me? What is all this?!” she inquired smiling, touched by her friend’s over the top welcome.

 

   “We had no toys...Muggle toys...I wasn’t sure... you said no magic and Ginny told me he likes dinosaurs. I thought of getting one of those dragons I gave Teddy last Christmas but...well...they fly and...”  Hermione lowered herself to the floor and gave him a crushing embrace.

 

   With Harry still in her arms she lifted her moistened eyes. Molly was crying, Arthur cleared his throat and Ginny was leaning on her mother drawing a faint, sad smile on her face.

 

    “Mummy look!”  John Albus’s excitement had no limits. He was swimming in toys and books of all shapes and sizes. Christmas in June, hurray!

 

   Harry stood up and helped Hermione up. His emerald gaze met hers again. Guilt and sorrow reigned deep within her friend. She brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you.” His lips managed a lopsided, timid smile. Hermione took his hand on hers, tightening her fingers around it.

 

  Molly strolled towards her. John Albus held on to his new toy tightly and with his free hand embraced his mother’s thigh aware now of the others.

 

   “May I?” asked Molly eagerly, extending her arms.

 

   “Why don’t I better introduce you?”  Hermione picked John Albus. As it was his custom John concealed his face on his mother’s shoulder. “John, this is Mrs. Weasley,” she pointed at Arthur, “and her husband, Mr. Weasley and you remember Ginny and you have already met Harry” John had directed his grey eyes to Ginny who smiled back at him.

 

   Molly caressed the blond curls softly. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are! And the outfit! Do I see drag...dinosaurs?”

 

   John Albus lifted his head and slowly pointed at one of the imprints on his shirt. “Is this your favourite?” Molly asked.

 

   John assented resting his head on his mother’s shoulders but looking at Molly this time. Slowly, Molly leaned over and kissed his silky cheek. “Welcome home, John Albus Malfoy-Granger.” 

 

   Molly picked him up gently keeping him close to Hermione. “I have a picture to show you, John.” She directed her next words to Hermione. “It’s an old moving picture of a baby dragon, do you mind?”

 

  “He’d love it, Mrs.Weasley,” replied Hermione while stealing a look at her surroundings, coaching her heart to stop trying to escape the confinements of her chest.  So many memories!

 

   “Well then, how about some tea and chocolate cake?”  Molly was walking towards the kitchen with John in her arms. In a matter of minutes, John had the moving picture in his hands, sitting comfortably on Molly’s lap, donning a white moustache, with chocolate crumbs on it.  The small kitchen had not changed at all. Too small to fit the whole Weasley clan, filled with kitchen utensils hanging on the walls; with its fireplace kindling a small fire and its worn out table for eight and yet, it exuded comfort, shelter, love. Molly and Ginny dotted on John Albus, kissing him often, offering him sweets which would last him for a lifetime. Arthur sat at the head of the table beside his wife, obviously pleased.

 

  Harry, sitting opposite of Ginny and beside Hermione, was quiet. The bags under his eyes had receded some but the tiredness was still there. He was not sleeping well. His hands were on the table laced together in a nervous ball. Some of his fingers scratched and dug into each other and his skin appeared clammy. Whatever was going through his mind, whatever he was feeling was taking its toll on him. It was evident to Hermione he was not out of the woods yet.

 

   A man’s voice thundering in the sitting room reached the kitchen. “Mum, Dad!, are you home?”  

 

   Hermione almost bolted from her place, panic spreading through her body and written all over her face. Molly sounded apologetic. “Sorry, dear, but Bill... he saw John’s picture. I couldn’t lie. It’ll be all right. Please?”

 

   Bill came in. Harry, aware of his friend’s anxiety took one of her hands in his and slid closer to Hermione. The gesture steadied and warmed her heart. She raised her face and stared at Bill while those around her watched the scene unfold. A minute or two went by, before any words were spoken.

 

   “Hello, Bill.” Finally, Hermione managed a whisper as a greeting.

 

   “Glad you decided to come, Hermione.” Bill was standing right beside her. Taking her by the shoulders he gently pulled her up and, looking directly into her eyes, said, “I have not much to say. My only regret is that I never got to know you better, the way my brother and Harry do. If I had and known what I know now... Like everyone else my judgment was clouded by...all that happened. I read your statement. I can’t say I understand the choices you made. I am working on it though. I failed Ron and you too. I stood in the sideline, having much to say and said nothing at the end. Forgive me.”  He turned his eyes to John Albus and a crooked smile surfaced in his scarred features. “I think is about time Malfoys and Weasleys learned to leave the past in the past.  So...” Arthur, Molly and Bill exchanged glances in agreement.  Bill returned his gaze to Hermione, waiting for her reply.

 

  With her free left hand, because she was still holding on to Harry, Hermione got hold of Bill’s right hand and said, “Thank you, Bill.” It was a simple statement and it brightened the older of the Weasley siblings' blue eyes.

 

  “Yeah, well, Mum told me that if I made you cry her future grandchildren might be in jeopardy.”  Bill had to duck in time to avoid a small pot.

 

   “William Arthur Weasley! I did not say such a thing...” Molly was cradling John Albus on her left hip as she stood up, the colour on her face matching her auburn hair. “I would never...!”

 

   Out of nowhere every spoon, fork and knife on the table flew towards Bill who dropped to the floor. John Albus' laughter was loud and hard. “More!” He clasped his hands in delight.

 

   Those who were sitting, stood up, all wide eyed staring at the little boy grinning mischievously. Hermione rushed to her son. “John Albus stop!” Taking him into her arms she turned to the amazed and amused adults. “Oh God! I apologize. Bill, are you okay?” Her embarrassment had no limits.

 

   From under the table, a pair of giggling blue eyes appeared. The laughter in Bill’s gaze was unmistakable. “Well, well, wicked sense of humour. That was bloody brilliant!”

 

   “BILL!” Hermione and Molly shouted.

 

   Lifting himself from the floor Bill walked slowly towards mother and son. “It is very nice to meet John Albus! Yes indeed!”  He shook the little boy’s hand, winking at John who laughed again. 

 

   “Please don’t encourage him!”  Hermione walked back to her chair, huffing and puffing. “The first time was so innocent and I was pleased… kind of pleased.  He is... I mean the tantrums are legend and I thought...What am I supposed to do?!”  Hermione sat shaking her head at her son.

 

  Hermione’s mortification provoked a small grin on Ginny’s face which quickly faded. Hermione was adamant about not using magic. Unrealistic and very unlike Hermione to ever settle for a life without magic in Ginny’s opinion, since John Albus was a wizard and Draco Malfoy had an agenda opposite of Hermione’s. Regardless, it was what Hermione wanted and no amount of words would convince the ‘smartest witch of her age’ of the contrary. No until Hermione fought the last of her demons away.

 

  “There is nothing to do, dear.” Molly said, as she was serving everyone a second cup of tea. When she reached Hermione, she stopped and caressed John’s curls. “He is too small to understand or control it.  Expect the unexpected until he is old enough...”  Molly stopped mid sentence as soon as her eyes met Ginny’s.

 

   Bill was sitting at the end of the table beside Hermione still smiling. “I think it is an occasion to celebrate, Hermione. You sound like he is caught a disease or something.”

 

   The light-hearted atmosphere changed into a tense silence in a matter of seconds. Molly was leaning against the kitchen sink trying to get Bill’s attention but it was Ginny who broke the silence. “Hermione is not using magic anymore, Bill. She is living and working as a Muggle and she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

 

   Hermione wasn’t sure if she should be grateful or embarrassed at the swiftness with which Ginny came to her rescue. Bill had taken the cup in his hands and stole a glance at Hermione  examining her closely. Harry was expressionless, almost as if he wasn’t there at all, holding his cup close to his mouth but not drinking from it. Arthur and Molly exchanged worried glances.

 

   And once again it was Ginny who stepped in, lightening up the guarded mood. “Hey, John Albus, did you happen to stumble upon a tricycle hidden in that mountain of toys?” She turned to Hermione to explain. “When I told your parents Harry had bought a whole Muggle toy store I didn’t exaggerate, did I, Harry?” Ginny sounded cheerful enough but the trepidation in Ginny’s voice and the almost despairing expression in her eyes as she addressed Harry didn’t escape Hermione.

 

  “I must admit, Hermione, Muggle toys are extraordinary!” Arthur was speaking for the first time coming to Ginny’s aid. “Most extraordinary! There is this miniature Muggle car, John Albus can ride in it, I mean you have to see it! Harry bought this toy, this aer... airplo...”

 

   “Airplane you mean?”  All tension had left Hermione. Arthur sounded like John Albus talking about his favourite toys. Arthur's’ enthusiasm for everything Muggle had not lessened one bit. 

 

  “I’d say we let John Albus decide what to do. It is a beautiful afternoon and the poor thing didn’t come all the way here to hang around with old boring adults.”  Ginny was already at Hermione’s feet extending an invitation to John Albus, who jumped into his favourite redhead’s arms.

 

  “Harry,” Ginny tried once again to get her boyfriend’s attention.  “You mentioned something about... that game, the one Muggles play with their feet”  She was almost imploring but Harry only managed to raise his face and kept quiet.

 

  “Ginny, go on without me. I feel like taking a walk with Harry. You mind?”  Ginny’s hazel gaze filled with sadness was all the answer Hermione needed. 

 

   “You go, Hermione, don’t worry about John, he’ll be fine. I must admit I am curious myself.” Molly had taken her apron off and was almost out the door. “Come, Arthur, I know you are dying to get your hands on that Muggle toy car.”

 

  “Don’t mind helping.” On his way out, Arthur, gently, tightened his hand on Hermione's shoulder.  

 

   Bill was last. “I’d better go and make sure your son gets to use his toys first. Dad may have a hard time ‘sharing,’” he said winking at her.

 

   Her gaze remained on the now closed door for a short moment. Inhaling deeply, she turned her attention to the man beside her. Harry's slumped figure tore at Hermione’s heart not only for him but for someone else. There she was, lending her dearest, closest friend a helping hand while the man she loved would rather drown in his own despair than reach for her.

 

  “Come on, Harry, Ginny is right, it is a beautiful afternoon.”  She chained her arm with his and pulled Harry up.

 

   Harry and Hermione covered the garden’s grounds in silence, walking side by side. Aside from all the emotions she was wrestling with one had never left her since she had woken up drenched in her own sweat that morning after a bad, bad dream.  It was as if something was not right somewhere and it was closing in on her. Her chest was tight, her heart was beating but not at its regular, harmonious intervals, quiet the opposite. Premonitions and visions were not her cup of tea and yet... why wasn’t she able to control that particular feeling? Anger sipped through her. Too fast, too much at the same time. In the space of two weeks she had lost control of her life, with no time to think, to regroup, to scream, to cry at the top of her lungs. Her breathing had become rapid, laboured; a panic attack was absolutely out of the question!

 

  She focused on the beauty around her. The familiarity of the place gave her comfort and at the same time stirred in her a painful nostalgia of things that weren’t and could have been. She then glanced at her friend. Harry James Potter, The Boy Who Lived and died a thousands deaths, now a shadow of who he once was. They made their way to the little hill behind The Burrow’s backyard and sat facing the house. John was running after Ginny, laughing wildly, while Arthur and Bill fidgeted with a remote control airplane. Molly was picking up weeds here and there and eventually sat on a derelict chair keeping a watchful eye on John Albus. All of a sudden Hermione felt like crying. Swallowing hard she turned her face to Harry.  

 

  Harry looked straight into her chocolate eyes and took one of her hands and as he did so he placed something in her hand. “What is this?” She asked staring at the little piece of cloth on the palm of her hand. 

 

   “ _Engorgio_ ” Harry cast the spell keeping his eyes on hers.   “It’s your cape. I’ve kept it all these years. I had nothing else but a few pictures and your cape... after...” Harry couldn’t continue; the memories of The Three Bromsticks rushed back at both of them. Harry took the cape from Hermione's hand and placed it around her shoulders. “Now that you are here, that I can talk to you, see you... You should have it.”  

 

   “Oh, Harry! Why are you doing this to me? Of all the bloody days!”  And just like that Hermione broke in tears.  Harry put his arm around her. He just held her tight, close to him, kissing her brow. Down below a few bodies stilled for a few seconds lifting their heads up, and then resumed their activities. The dampness of her tears on his shirt somehow lifted his spirits. It felt good offering Hermione a shoulder to cry on for a change. After a while her sobs subsided. Hermione was holding on to Harry with both of her arms around his waist and her head was resting on his, by now, very wet shoulder.

 

  “I am sorry,” Harry murmured.

 

  “About what, because the list of what you are sorry about must be as long as the Earth’s circumference so if you could be more specific.” With the back of her left hand Hermione wiped her damp eyes and positioned herself, legs crossed, in front of Harry, donning a taunting, quivering smile. 

 

  “You are making fun of me and I made you cry!” he protested with the slightest glint in his eyes. 

 

   “I cried because...” she paused and took hold of her cape lifting it a few centimetres placing it on her chest. “Why would you cry yourself to sleep holding on to this piece of cloth when you had people who love you, when you had Ginny? What are you doing, Harry?  Why are you pushing her away? Don’t you know how much she loves you?”

 

  Tears were streaming down her face again; desperate and confused she couldn’t stop herself. “You love her, you’d die for her and yet here you are behaving like a fucking bastard. What would it take for you to let her in, to allow her to love you? What more do you want from her! Do you have any idea what it's like to watch the one you love push you away? You tell her you need her, that you can’t live without her only to kick her in the gut, time and time again. Why don’t you just tell her it's all a lie! Finish her off, put her out of her misery!”

 

  She rose, threw the cape at him and ran away for the prying eyes of those below. Harry found her, pacing back and forth at the foot of the hill. She was crying so hard she was barely breathing. Her hands were tight fists brushing her sides. She was almost hysterical and it alarmed him.

 

   Harry took her by the shoulders. With a quick, angry swinging movement of her arms she freed herself of his hold. “Hermione...”

 

  “No, you answer me! Why... what the hell am I supposed to do! You are in the same hellhole he is in. You both seem to be enjoying it and don’t give a fuck about those who love you and care for you. I need to know, Harry. I can’t help him, he won’t let me. What am I fighting against, Harry? TELL ME!”  Her knees buckled but Harry was quicker and eased her to the ground taking her into his arms again. 

 

   So this was what whatever was happening to him was doing to Ginny. Ice water, molten lava falling down on him wouldn’t have provoked the same sudden realization of his selfishness and cowardly behaviour. Some called it the works of the Holy Spirit, some an epiphany, others a breakthrough.  It didn’t matter. The point was, it was all clear to him, he understood and that was half the battle, wasn’t it? The prospect of losing Ginny was bad enough, hurting her the way Draco was hurting Hermione sucked the air out of his lungs. Thinking of Ginny despairing and suffering as Hermione was made him feel small and not worthy of Ginny's love. 

 

  Closing his eyes he pictured himself   in a pitch black, never ending tunnel. A gate to the dark, guilt ridden nightmare of the past three years. Ahead of him open space, a few dark clouds hanging on a prominent blue sky: what could very well be his future. He was familiar with every nook and cranny of the daunting place he had been living in. He had dared come out a few times only to be pulled back in again and again because he never made a clean break. It was his secret place, known only to him. _‘If you are lucky, and you are, to have friends willing to listen... You have the Weasleys, Ginny...you have me.’_ He had listened and now he heard Hermione loud and clear. Hermione needed her friend back. Ginny needed him. At the moment he had very little to give them but he would anyway.

 

   “I am sorry, Hermione.” He silenced Hermione’s protest with his index finger on her lips. “Hear me out.”  With his thumbs he cleared the few tears running down her face. “Yes, I said I was sorry before but I need to say it again, many times. I can’t help it. Just like every time I look at Ginny it reminds me of how much I’m hurting her and it makes me mad at myself and I end up hurting her even more. Crazy, I know. Until she found you I was holding on to whatever was left of my sanity.  When the bad memories assaulted me I’d run away to Rumania or Godric’s Hollow or Sirius’s place until I felt better. Now it’s like I am stuck in a bad dream and can’t wake up, whereas before I could. I can’t explain it, one minute I am fine, one minute I am not.”

 

   Hermione was listening closely. It all sounded familiar. Encouraged by the prompting in her eyes Harry asked. “It happened to you, didn’t it?” The relief he felt as Hermione nodded was like a warm blanket covering his shivering body. Hermione knew! She went through it! “How then...”

 

   “Counselling, talking about it, leaning on my parents, John Albus.”  She hiccupped the words; she had cried so hard her lungs had not recuperated yet. “Being away helped. Nothing to remind me of... you know.”

 

   They sat side by side, legs stretched, leaning on their hands, Hermione’s cape resting on Harry’s legs. The wind, warm and gentle, cooled their faces and dried her tears. Birds and other creatures frolicked in the nearby trees and shrubs. “Sorry, I went kind of mental on you.” Hermione spoke first.

 

  “I deserved it. We both deserve it.” He was referring to Draco. “I gladly shared being called a fucking bastard with Draco Malfoy. Is kind of strange though, you, Hermione Granger using such language! I am appalled!”  Harry smiled and Hermione rolled her eyes.

 

 Her attention turned back to the garment on his lap. Hermione took the cape in her hands and examined it closely. Harry watched her glide her fingers slowly through the fabric. She would smile a little, then frown and then her eyes would glow with nostalgia and sadness. 

 

  “Being away really helped you?”  He asked interested, expectantly. “Counselling... you mean you talked about it? To Muggles?” 

 

   “Yes, I did. Obviously I didn’t tell them I used to be a witch or about the war.” Both were now tracing their fingers on the cape.

 

   “How did not talking about the war help you? I don’t understand.”  The eagerness in his inquiry forced Hermione to examine her friend’s features more closely.

 

  “We are all human beings, Harry. That’s something we share with Muggles. Just because I couldn’t go deep into the source of my nightmares or my panic attacks didn’t mean I couldn’t speak about my feelings or better still, listen to the others.”

 

  Harry kept quiet, deep in thought. Hermione chose to continue, sensing some sort of breakthrough. “Some in the group had suffered some sort of physical abuse, others came from war-torn places, others had lost loved ones due to violence. We all had something in common:  we were all in pain.”

 

  “You said being away helped you. You must have missed magic though?”  Harry was asking rather than making a statement.

  

  Her answer came with a big sigh while her hands continued caressing her cape as her gaze followed her fingers’ path. “I did, some part of me still does. Being a witch, going to Hogwarts meant the world to me because I finally belonged and I wished so much to belong! What happened after the war, after Draco... none of it mattered. Magic, being a witch, lost all meaning to me.”

 

   “And now?”  he asked eagerly.

 

   “And now I... I don’t know. I miss... us, what it was... The way things are now though... I just don’t know.”  She let out a mocking laugh. “I read somewhere that losing your magical powers was like not being able to see, to taste or to smell; you were no longer you so to speak. You were just a lowly Muggle, a nobody, a shell. Your identity was lost and some have even killed themselves thinking that without magic their life meant nothing! I walked away from it and just like that lived as a Muggle. Magic gave me more than supernatural powers. When I lost my friends, the respect of my so called peers, magic was just a thing, a meaningless way of living for after all we are first human beings and what we humans crave more than anything in the world is the love and respect of  those we care the most for. Once that’s lost... Being away opened my eyes. Until Ginny appeared in front of my shop I hadn’t realized I don’t need or miss magic as much as I thought I did nor is it any longer what I measure myself against.”

 

   Harry couldn’t hide his disappointment. “But... what about John Albus? Surely you are not going to forbid him from using magic! Hermione...” Harry was scrambling for words. “Are you saying you are not coming back, ever?’

 

  “All I’m saying is that today, the way things are, I don’t see why I should come back.” Her words were bitter with the slightest touch of mourning. Harry’s thoughts and emotions were evident in his face. He was taken aback, dismayed and wounded by her words.

 

  “Without magic, how are you going to stop Malfoy from taking John Albus from you?”  His words didn’t have the effect he expected. 

 

  Hermione shrugged her shoulders as if the thought of confronting Draco was an everyday thing. “I’ll deal with it when and if the time comes and that is a big if.”  Although her tone was calm, her hands had turned into fists, gathering most of her cape on her lap. 

 

  “You don’t think he’ll do it? This is Malfoy we are talking about, Hermione!” As much as he tried to control his temper the vexation in his voice was obvious.

 

  “Harry... tell me, those hexes on the walls in your parents’ home, what, whom were you aiming them at?  The Dursleys,  Voldemort, your parents, me, Ginny, Ron?”  Harry’s veins on his neck bulged, palpitating at a frantic speed. He stood up, turning his back on Hermione, pocketing his hands on the back of his jeans. 

 

   “I’d suggest to you Draco is doing exactly the same.”  Hermione could see the muscles on his back tighten. “Draco doesn’t have a house to trash in anger; somebody else had done it for him, revenge, apparently. You can go hide for a while with Ron and Charlie, you have Ginny, the rest of the Weasleys. He has no friends, none. He is despised by all and most of all he despises himself. I lived with him, remember? The nightmares, the mood swings, the rage, the sorrow, his tears, his remorse... The Boy Who Lived can crash and burn, he is seen so much, he has suffered so! But Draco Malfoy, he’d never suffer enough to appeased his victims! Hell! I’d go as far as saying all of Voldemort’s victims!”  Her sarcasm and bitterness burned deep into Harry’s heart. “You have no innocent blood on your hands, be grateful for that. He never killed anyone and yet he lives as if he did. Draco can’t accept that we will never be welcomed back into your world. I am Hermione Granger, the tart who let herself be bedded by the enemy. Draco is a Malfoy, need I say more? And John Albus? He is the spawn of the traitor and one of Voldemort’s whores.”

 

   Harry flinched and closed his eyes.  Had she really given up on them, on her?  Is that what she thought of herself? Of her son? His world? That’s what she said, ‘his world.’  He shook his head and faced her. She lifted her face in defiance. Her brown eyes darkened by the rancour and fear she still harboured within her. Harry’s emerald green eyes bore into her, digging deeper, relentlessly until Hermione squirmed on her spot, lowering her gaze. It seemed to Harry that Fate had dealt them a most interesting hand. Funny how things worked out sometimes.  Hermione needed to be rescued as much as he did, which might mean rescuing Draco Malfoy. Had the world gone mad or what!

 

   “So you’ve given up, is that it?” He stood tall, arms crossed on his chest.

 

   “Haven’t you?” she retaliated.

 

   Harry ignored her jibe. “I'll tell you what Malfoy is thinking. He wants to die.”  Hermione jerked her head up. Her big brown eyes wide open. “But not at his hands, that’s not punishment enough. He wants to die at the hands he wronged. They are dead, that’s the problem. What to do? Simple. You live your pitiful life as if the ghosts of your painful past don’t exist. Only you know they do. They are lurking, waiting and when they do come, you don’t fight them. You let them tear you apart bit by bit until a minuscule part of you dies and then you find yourself breathing once more, living to die again.”

 

   Hermione stared at Harry horrified. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. Harry lowered himself and knelt down. Taking her hands in his he kissed them. “Don’t let them, Hermione. Let’s fight them together. Those things you called yourself, that’s rubbish and you know it!  You can’t let Ron or Rita Skeeter have the last word!  If you think Malfoy is hurting the way I am, if you love him, if you love your son... you can’t give up.”

 

   She shook her head adamantly. “I am not giving up. I don’t want to!”  She blew the strands of hair in front on her eyes. “I’m just so afraid and so angry at him at the same time. He can be so gentle and loving but his bloody pride, that blasted pureblood pride…!”  She took Harry’s face in her hands. “Oh God, Harry! What you just described… is it really like that?  I can’t imagine... Oh my God!” She covered her mouth in dismay. 

 

   Harry’s eyes became placid, peaceful. Looking at them Hermione felt herself being pulled deep into a lush, green forest brilliantly showered by the sun’s warm caress. Harry placed Hermione’s cape around her shoulders again. “I haven’t had a nightmare since Thursday.”

 

  “But you look awful, Harry! Don’t lie to me. In the kitchen, I saw it.  Your hands... you were shaking, you were about to bolt.” In spite of what she witnessed in the Weasleys’ kitchen this Harry in front of her had a totally different aura about him and the way his gaze almost smiled at her, confounded Hermione even more. “The bags under your eyes...”

 

  “I have been flying for hours.  It’s the only way I can think clearly and I have been doing a lot of thinking. And in the kitchen... memories, that’s all. I remembered the many times we all sat around that table and it was like... the same as when Dementors are close by, you know. It’s like that when I remember. Sirius, Fred, Remus, Tonks... they should have been here, with us.” Hermione was about to interrupt him but he signalled with his right hand to let him continue. “I’m beginning to understand. I’m not crazy, there is a name for what I have been going through!” The exhilaration in his voice was almost a song to Hermione’s ears. “You ... you the strongest, the most powerful witch ever... you know what I’m talking about! I will get better, I promise.  _‘And so will you, Hermione,’_ he told himself as he offered his hand and helped Hermione to her feet.

 

    She followed Harry up the small mound. They reached the top and very calmly Hermione turned around, all smiles.  “Harry, may I borrow your wand?” she asked in her most saccharine tone. “Please?”

 

   Not sure what to make of such a request Harry produced his wand. Hermione then spun on her heels and started marching down the hill. It all happened in a matter of seconds.  “ _Expelliarmus_! _Levicorpus_!” Bill Weasley found himself without his wand, lifted up in the air only to fall back down unceremoniously. “What the bloody...” His protest was cut short. 

 

   “ _Relashio_!” The tip of Harry’s wand spewed sparks aimed at Bill, who flung his arms in the air desperately. Small cuts appeared on his face and bare arms. “ _Incarcerous_!”

 

   Stepping over Bill’s bound body, Hermione took John Albus sitting on a floating broom a mere metre from the ground.  Everyone around her stood still. Ginny controlled her lips about to explode into full blown laughter. Molly clasped one of her hands in her mouth, her eyes as wide as could be. Arthur, same as Ginny, forced his lips into submission but his blues eyes could barely contain his amusement. Harry was stunned. Hermione had performed four spells one after the other, swishing her hand with the expertise of the master she was, as if three years without performing magic had never happened.

 

   Standing right above Bill’s immobilized body Hermione shouted at the top of her lungs. “HOW DARE YOU LET MY SON FLY ON A BROOM? HOW DARE YOU! _MY_ SON, GOT IT?”

 

  “Hermione ... I didn’t mean...”  Bill found the tip of Harry’s wand stabbing his neck.

 

  “I DON’T CARE! YOU HAD NO RIGHT!”  Her hand was trembling. John Albus’ small cries started her. 

 

  “Hermione...”  Harry was beside her prying his wand from her hand. 

 

  John Albus broke free and ran towards the broom but Ginny scooped him up before he was able to reach it, which only increased the toddler’s frustration. Molly picked the tiny broom and Bill’s wand off the floor hiding them behind her back. Arthur approached her and placed his arm around her shoulders whispering something to her. 

 

  “I told him not to do it.” Ginny glared at Bill. “If anyone should teach John Albus to fly it's his own mother.”

 

  “Right, Hermione Granger ‘the flying wonder’! If memory serves me right Miss Granger here is one of, if not the worst, witches ever when it comes to flying!” Having regained his composure Bill couldn’t help but get back at Hermione the only way he knew how and with the only body part he had available at the moment devoid as he was of his wand and movement.

 

  Harry, relieved now that he had reclaimed his wand, asked a still fuming Hermione, “Hermione, are you finished with Bill?”

 

  “Hey!”  Bill protested clearly amused at Hermione’s reaction. The young witch stood on top of him, arms crossed at her chest while her smouldering gaze was met by the taunting of laughing blue eyes. Bill continued pushing Hermione’s buttons. “John Albus, mate, help your uncle Bill.”

 

   “Bill, that’s enough!”  Molly intervened. “Harry, dear, could you take care of Bill? We should get back inside.”

 

    Hermione’s knitted brows untangled. She fixed her eyes on the hand which held a wand for the first time in years. Lifting her face up, the meaning of what just happened rendered her speechless. Glancing at Bill and those around her, she opened her mouth and then closed it. Molly took her by the shoulders tenderly. It was then that Hermione found her voice. “Mrs. Weasley! I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me!”

 

  “Nothing to worry about. Let's freshen up, supper is ready.” Molly glared at Bill once more. Hermione, embarrassed and mortified by her outburst, let herself be guided by Molly back to the house, not before providing Bill with an apologetic glance.  He waved at her and Ginny slapped his hand, rolling her eyes. John Albus ran ahead of the adults going into the house.

 

 “I can’t stay for supper! My parents...”  Her voice carried as she entered the house.

 

  “You can use the mobile, can’t she, Harry?” Ginny asked behind him.

 

  “She certainly can,” answered Harry taking her by the hand. An astounded Ginny stopped dead on her tracks. Harry kissed her lightly. “We have to talk,” he said as they went into the house hand in hand.

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   As she finished her phone conversation with her mother, Hermione leaned on the kitchen counter closing her eyes. Candice sounded slightly peeved, which wasn’t a surprise considering that for the past few years the Weasleys and Harry were a forbidden subject of conversation in the Granger household. And now there she was, with her son in tow, about to share a meal with her friends; her old, lost, now found friends.

 

  The mouth-watering scent of Molly Weasley’s cooking permeated the whole kitchen. Harry and Ginny were keeping John Albus entertained, which wasn’t that difficult considering the amount of toys scattered throughout the sitting room. Bill and Arthur had gone out to the shed, maybe to work on one of Arthur’s many Muggle gadgets or were they still tinkering with the miniature car?

 

  Molly was conspicuously quiet. She would smile at Hermione, caress her face as she busied herself with setting the table, making Hermione rather anxious. “Mrs. Weasley, I apologize.”

 

   “Sorry, dear?” Molly answered distractedly as she opened one of the cupboards.

 

   “About Bill, I’m really sorry. I still can believe it! I hurt him...”  Hermione hugged herself as she spoke.

 

  Molly closed the cupboard and with her back to Hermione gave out a big sigh. The gesture didn’t escape Hermione. Was Molly angrier than she let on? Biting into her lip Hermione waited for Molly’s reply.

 

   It wasn’t anger what Hermione saw; it was tenderness and conflicted feelings the young witch couldn’t quiet discern. Molly took Hermione’s hands in hers, upturning slightly the corner of her mouth. “You are such a wonderful mother! I can’t believe how strong you’ve been, how generous and understanding. Having you here has been...” Molly paused, “Nostalgia, that’s all, dear. Don’t mind this old woman. About Bill, I’m sure he enjoyed being at the receiving end of such an amazing display of talent, trust me on that, and he deserved it!”  She gave Hermione a gentle slap on her cheek. “Now, would you be kind enough to tell Harry and Ginny supper is ready?”

 

  Molly watched Hermione leave and a bigger sigh escaped from her mouth. After supper Arthur would inform Hermione about Draco’s ‘accident.’  The poor girl!  Draco’s despicable words coming through the Muggle device in Harry’s possession enraged all of them. Draco had not changed at all, claimed Harry, he was the same heartless, spineless bastard he’s always been. Ginny couldn’t even speak coherently. Molly exercised a better control of her emotions than Harry and Ginny, with great effort though. Draco’s venomous accusations and remarks must have ripped Hermione apart, regardless of the brave face she was putting on.  The worst part of the whole ordeal was listening to Hermione’s sobs after Draco left. 

 

  At the Manor though, Arthur encountered a different person. Draco was the same bitter, contemptuous and somewhat arrogant man and yet her husband had come back home concerned. Draco Malfoy was a changed man, a broken man.  Early in the morning Arthur had gone to Malfoy Manor again but Draco was gone, his potions left untouched. Casper, bound by an oath not to tell anyone where his master might have gone, was as worried as the older wizard, and a few minutes ago Bill, sent by his father back to the Manor, confirmed that Draco had not come back. Keeping all this from Hermione was not possible. The three older Weasleys had a different take on what Draco’s absence meant and about what actions should be taken to protect Hermione and her son from a deranged Draco Malfoy. It was Hermione’s decision, Arthur had argued; Bill thought of a more proactive approach and Molly could only marvel at Hermione’s strength and forgiving heart, asking both her husband and eldest son to measured their words and control their impulses. Whatever Hermione decided they would all do their best to support her. 

 

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  Supper was a different experience than  the afternoon tea. Hermione and Molly shared the same space, on one side of the table; Bill and Arthur, at each end and Ginny and Harry on the other side with John Albus sitting between them, not for long though. Within minutes John slid down Ginny’s side and climbed on her lap.

 

  The tension, the awkwardness had disappeared. As in the past, and in spite of the obvious absences, sharing a meal at the Weasley household was a loud experience filled with laughter. Everyone talking, teasing and asking for this and that dish at once. Molly and Hermione traded a few glances as Harry and Ginny exchanged light touches and tender smiles. Bill wasted no time teasing Hermione about the ‘injuries’ he suffered at her hand, which of course made Hermione apologize many a times. John Albus was the centre of attention from both Ginny and Molly. Eventually the little boy, having had enough of his female admirers settled on his mum’s lap.

 

  By the time dessert arrived the little one was sound asleep in Hermione’s arms, satisfied and exhausted after a very exciting afternoon. Hermione insisted on helping Molly with the dirty dishes so Ginny wasted no time taking John Albus up to her bedroom. Bill and Harry were asked to clear the sitting room so that they could all relax while having a cup of tea. Ginny joined her brother and boyfriend after making sure her little friend was tucked in comfortably and securely.

 

  Back in the kitchen Arthur stayed behind. After a few moments of hesitation he pushed his chair away. “Hermione, walk with me please.”  His request was met by inquisitive brown eyes.

 

  Wiping her hands dry, Hermione looked at Molly, who in return caressed her face. “What is it?” asked the young witch. It sounded more like a plea than a question. 

 

  Arthur had already opened the door to the garden. Hermione stepped outside, shivering a little. Outside in the country, dusk tended to be cooler. Arthur had taken a small sweatshirt from one of the hooks by the door and wrapped Hermione’s shoulders with it. 

 

  “I’m surprised you are holding on so well. Molly told me what happened yesterday.” They were walking slowly towards the edge of the garden. Arthur was not sure how to broach the subject, other than blurt it all out. Somehow he felt it wasn’t the right approach.

 

  Hermione walked beside him hugging herself tightly, not so much because of the cool, damp night but because of what the events of the day before stirred within her.  “I know what you must think of him, of me.”  She stopped and lifted her head up and looked at him straight into his eyes. “Mr. Weasley, if you know something about Draco you have to tell me, that’s what you want to talk to me about, isn't it?” 

 

   “It is.” He told her everything.

 

   Hermione continued their walk, hugging herself and, from what Arthur could tell by looking at her face, the wheels in her brain were spinning out of control. Arthur was expecting anything but that most foreboding quiet. Her next words came out through trembling lips. “I need to go to the Manor now.”

 

  Arthur had no choice but to run after her.  The determination in her strides spoke volumes. She breezed through the kitchen into the sitting room. “I must go to Malfoy Manor.” Hermione said to the startled adults facing her.

 

  Ginny and Harry looked at each other confused. Bill stood up and said, “I just came from there, Hermione, he is not there. His house-elf is under the strictest of instructions not to tell anyone where he is.” 

 

  “I am going.” Her whole body shook, her lips were almost white and in her eyes tears were gathering rapidly.

 

  “What’s going on!”  Harry demanded.

 

  “I don’t have time for this; I said I want to go to the Manor!”  All control she had over her emotions was slowly ebbing away.

 

  “I’ll take you.” Arthur took her by the elbow.

 

  “I’m going with you!”  Harry intervened.

 

  “What, it’s...”  Ginny was interrupted by her mother.

 

  “We’ll look after John Albus.” Molly squeezed Hermione’s hand locking her gaze with the ex-Gryffindor. “I’m sure he is fine, Hermione, and I’m not just saying that.”

 

  “Thank you,” was her quivering answer.

 

   Two pops later and Arthur, Hermione and Harry were gone.

 

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  Hermione wasted no time indulging in the fluttering in her stomach, the increase in her heart rate or the haunting images conjuring up in her head. She summoned Casper seconds after side-Apparatting.  The house-elf appeared from the shadows bowing in submission.

 

  “Madam Malfoy,” he greeted her without lifting his almost hairless head. 

 

  _‘Madam Malfoy?’_ Arthur and Harry looked at each other, wondering what exactly Casper meant by such a greeting.

 

  “Casper, where is Draco?” she demanded, the shaking of her body not subsiding.

 

   Harry, standing beside her, took in the destruction and abandonment of the once majestic symbol of the Malfoys' pureblood superiority and couldn’t help but feel some shame as he compared his parents’ home with the destruction and filth around him. Arthur had no interest in the place having been there plenty of times as the Ministry gathered evidence against Narcissa and her son.  If anything, the grimness around him was a sad reminder of wounds not yet healed.

 

  “Master will kill us. We can’t tell you.” Casper shook his head.

 

  “He wouldn’t do that, Casper.” Hermione had come down to the terrified little thing.

 

  “I can’t. Master made me swear, I can’t,” he insisted. 

 

  Hermione leaned on her calves and stared at the house-elf for a while. Lifting herself up, she made her way to the massive stairs leading up to the second floor. “I’d like to see the room he stayed in.”

 

   Arthur and Casper led the way. Hermione hesitated for a moment, gathering all the strength she required not to think of where she was: the source of her most horrific nightmares. Harry wasn’t feeling any better. Her torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange had no adjectives, no possible way of describing it unless you were there to witness it or worse, hear it, unable to spare her the terror and the pain. Her screams, Ron’s desperate attempts to save her and his own fear and rage were part of his nightmares. He recollected the few times during their stay at Bill’s house or out hunting for Horcruxes when her dreams were made more tangible by her murmuring words. And if her experiences were similar to his after the dust settled, he knew those nightmares only got worse with time.

 

  He took her left hand, pulling Hermione close to him and both climbed up the stairs. They stood by the doorway studying it.  Harry was surprised curtains were still hanging on the massive windows. The room, like the rest of the Manor, looked as if a giant had tossed and rattled the whole place turning it upside down and side ways.  Broken furniture, paintings slashed, hanging precariously from one corner, pieces of expensive china on the floor, mixed in with torn pieces of clothing some of which had been set on fire, along with most of the furniture, which obviously was the reason the walls had that darken, smoky colour on them. A few strings of light came through tiny holes on the ceiling and in the middle of all that disaster, a bed, two side tables on each side and a candle still glowing on one of them.

  

   The two friends made their way in. Both were still holding hands. On the floor by the side of the bed, the one by the curtained window, Draco’s bloodied silk shirt caught Hermione’s attention and she gasped.  She let go of Harry’s hand and bent to pick the shirt as well as Draco’s pants.  She placed them on the bed and then she lowered her body into the mattress.  His pillow was bloodied. She stroked it gently as if it was Draco’s head she was touching. 

 

  She turned her head. “How badly was he hurt?” It was a miracle all those tears were not flowing down her face.

 

  Arhur strolled towards her and noticed one item missing on the side table on the other side of the bed. Hermione followed his eyes turning to see what got his attention but all she could see were the vials laying on the rickety table. “He was beaten up pretty badly. Casper mentioned Muggles but Draco said nothing, explained nothing.”

 

  “Muggles!? Mr. Weasley, please, I need to know everything. You don’t need to spare me the details. All this blood!”  His shirt clung to her chest as she stared into Arthur’s blue, sad eyes.

 

  “Serenity, the Healer, said he had a few broken bones, cuts and bruises. Nothing that a few days’ rest and vials couldn’t cure. She also said his alcohol levels were very high. I’m almost certain Draco couldn’t remember much of what happened to him.”  Arthur walked around the bed to make sure the item missing had not fallen on the floor.

 

  “You are looking for something, what is it?”  Hermione stood up and Harry, who had been examining the room more closely, made his way to the bed.

 

  “I left Draco a parchment authorizing visits to his mother. He took the parchment with him, didn’t he, Casper?”  Arthur asked without looking at Casper as he rested his eyes on Hermione.

 

   “Authorizing his visits? What wouldn’t he be able to see his mother?”  Hermione sounded a little defensive.

 

  “He is, but visits to Azkaban are prescheduled; it’s a regimented system for the likes of Narcissa Malfoy. We are trying to make it more flexible but when it comes to Death Eaters there is no inclination to bend the rules, let alone change them all together.”  His explanation finished, Arthur sat on the one and only chair. He had slept very little in the past twenty four hours.

 

  Hermione wanted to pursue the issue of the parchment but Draco’s injuries, his state of mind were the priority for her. Had he decided to visit Narcissa? If so, why swear his house-elf to secrecy and how did he know that someone might ask of his whereabouts?  Arthur knew of his injuries, why? Why would Draco come to the Manor and not his Muggle room?  Where did he go after he left her home? Why would Muggles beat him? Was it an act of revenge?

 

  “He may have gone to see his mother.”  Harry spoke for the first time. His statement was more for Hermione’s benefit than anything else. Draco sounded so sure of himself over the mobile, the way Harry remembered him: cruel, arrogant, hurtful to those who couldn’t defend themselves. Obviously something must have pushed him over the edge. The last thing a coward like Draco would do is go back to Azkaban, even for his mother’s sake. Drinking himself into a stupor  to drown guilty feelings was something Harry was pretty familiar with. If Draco got himself beaten up out of remorse after his unforgivable behaviour, Harry had nothing but praise for those Muggles.

 

  Hermione turned to Casper, standing by the door. “Casper, when Draco called for you, where did you go? Where did you find him?”

 

  “Master was hurt on the floor. It was dark. Mudbloods were laughing, calling Master names.”  

 

   “Yes, Casper. I know he was hurt and that Muggles attacked him but where? Where in Muggle London did you find him?” she asked again exasperated.

 

   Casper raised his shoulders, his big dark eyes asking for forgiveness. “Casper doesn’t know. It was dark. When Master summons us, we must go, we don’t care where or how far.”

 

  “But it was in Muggle London.” Casper nodded and Hermione gave him a little smile.

 

   “When Mr. Weasley left did Draco do or say anything?”  Hermione’s eagerness intimidated the poor creature. Sensing his uneasiness Hermione willed herself to calm down. “I’m not angry, Casper. I’m worried about your Master. He is hurt.  I want to help him as much as you do. I love him so very much!”

One lonely tear raced down her face.

 

   “Master was still and quiet for a long time. And then he fell to the ground and cried and screamed... Master sent Casper to fetch clothes. Casper begged Master not to go. He wouldn’t listen, he had to get out, he said.”  Casper paused. “Mistress is sick?”

 

   Arthur and Harry were by Hermione’s side in half a second. Both took her by the arms and asked Casper to bring a cup of water. Arthur brought the chair to Hermione and Harry prompted her to sit down. Her face was devoid of all colour and big, silent tears finally burst out of their confinement. 

 

  She had tried to keep calm, to stay focused on gathering as much information as she could but the thought of Draco in so much pain, alone and now gone was too much. Harry’s soothing words were not reaching her. She parted her lips and drank from the cup but the tears wouldn’t stop. A pair of emerald green eyes staring at her startled her.

 

  “Hermione, are you listening to me?”  Harry’s hands cradled her face.

 

   “Harry... I have to find him. I can’t stand not knowing!”  There was so much fear and concern in her voice Harry forgot how much he wished Draco out of Hermione’s life, if possible, forever.

 

   “I’ll do anything you want but not now. It’s late. You need your rest. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll stay behind and ask Casper a few more questions.” Harry held on to her by the waist. “Hermione, John Albus... remember?  I’ll call you first thing in the morning. I promise.”

 

   Hermione gave the room a last glance. “We can meet at my parents and you are going to tell me everything. Don’t hide anything from me, Harry,” she warned him.

 

   “Tomorrow at your parents. Now go.” He kissed her brow.

 

  “You’ll be okay, Harry?” Arthur asked frowning.

 

   “I’ll be fine Mr. Weasley.”  The glimmer in his eyes was all Arthur needed.  Harry stood tall, eager. Taking Hermione by her shoulders Arhur took them both back to The Burrow.

 

   “Right!”   He sat on the bed. Turning the bloodied pillow he placed it on his back as he rested on the headboard.. “Casper get both of us a cup of tea. I need to ask you a few more questions about the ferret, I mean your Master.”

 


	25. Chapter 25

  
Author's notes:

 

* * *

** Disclaimer ** **: J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

** A/N ** **: A warm welcome to my new beta Victoria Weasley. Many thanks for your help. You are terrific!**

**To  Indie, you have become a friend and made this hobby the most fun I had in years. Hermione and the gang shall wait for you. **Ευχαριστa4;. **μουλείπεις**

**Hermione and Draco have a long way to go. I can't rush my story. Let's not forget Harry and Ginny either.**

**Hugs and kisses,**

**Elena**

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 

**Chapter 25: Screwdrivers, Wrenches And Bolts.**

His eyes opened. Without moving, he blinked once, twice and closed his eyes again allowing a gush of breath escape from his mouth. The quiet around him, the foreign surroundings comforted the blond man. Nothing was familiar enough to bring back any memories and for Draco Malfoy that in itself felt like heaven. If he could stay like this forever, even better. He let his left leg slide downwards on the side of the day bed, then the right one. He winced as his chest reminded him of the reason the bandage was wrapped around his torso. With the help of his hands he lifted himself up ever so slowly remembering his not yet restored broken bones on his left hand. Resting his elbows on his thighs he held his head on both his hands digging his fingers into his hair. Although still in pain, he was feeling slightly better, physically at least. 

So he wasn’t being assaulted by those hideous images anymore, so what! He couldn’t stop feeling though. His heart contracted and distended painfully. Yes, now instead of images it was every possible emotion taking over his senses. First, guilt. Guilt was his faithful companion. As if living with it wasn’t difficult enough he had to go and make it an even bigger burden. First he betrayed Hermione in the most disgusting way possible. Not happy with his stupid behaviour he let ‘them’ control his emotions, when he had promised it would never happen again. Rage replaced guilt. His fingers tightened their hold on his head. He had promised ‘they’ would never invade his subconscious again nor would ‘they’ make him do or say things and yet, that’s exactly what happened. Draco trembled from head to toe. His hands landed by his thighs, clinging so tight to the edge of the day bed they had gone white, devoid of any blood.

Why did it happen? That Thursday, his mind drifted for a few minutes as he and Hermione made their way to get some lunch. He didn’t want to meet anyone, befriend anyone, he just didn’t care. Hermione insisted and then he starting thinking about the reasons why the past couple of years he chose to live in isolation. No sooner had his heart started its fast paced gallop Draco knew something was amiss within him and then..., the dark cloud engulfed him. That woman, the owner of the take out place, caressed Hermione’s cheek and he was transported back to that fateful day, the last day he saw his mother.

Narcissa’s departure to Azkaban was a quiet, intimate affair witnessed only by the Minister of Magic and her son. Draco stood tall, proud as she made her way out of the cell to stop right in front of him, her gaze arrogant, demanding, _‘Don’t ever forget who you are Draco. Promise me.'_ Narcissa’s plea was sealed by the most heartfelt caress his mother had ever given him. _‘You are a Malfoy and I expect you to make your family proud my son, my prince.'_ Not a kiss, not even an ‘I love you’ or a ‘see you soon son’; not from Narcissa Malfoy. Those fingers of hers spoke volumes as they reluctantly slid ever so slowly across his tensed cheek.

Draco’s touched his face as he fixed his gaze beyond the boundaries of the wall in front of him, as if in a trance, while his fingers lingered on his cheek. It tingled as if Narcissa’s warm, soft fingers had just brushed his face with that memorable touch. Serafina Murphy’s tender gesture, the expression in her eyes brought it all back to Draco. He wasn’t prepared for it. The more he fought against it the deeper into despair he fell. Rage took hold of him. He wasn’t about to fall apart in front of Hermione, so he fled.

It was shame’s turn to make its appearance. Hermione thought Malfoy pride was alive and well... right! He was a coward, a weak man. No, he wasn’t a man, not the man his mother or Hermione thought he was. When confronted with any kind of conflict, especially of the physical kind, he’d either ran or retaliated like a good coward would: when his attacker was most vulnerable. Never, ever would Draco Malfoy face an enemy head on by himself. What about Narcissa Malfoy then?

How could he face his mother? He let out a mocking laugh. Going back to Azkaban and face the woman who not only gave him life but forfeited her own to protect and save him? And say what? **_‘Sorry mother, but there’ll be nothing left by the time you come out of this nightmare. That promise, well, I couldn’t fucking keep it.’_**

Of course he couldn’t forget he was a Malfoy! One trip deep into the wizarding world and he was reminded of who he was: a despicable traitor. One look at the Manor and he couldn’t help but think he had no place in that world. His home was violated by enemies and ex-friends alike. Revenge and retaliation, weren’t those the words the Healer used? For more than two years his mother had been facing hell while he ran as far away from it as he could. Well, there was no place to run to anymore, he reached a dead end. What more proof did he need that it was the case? He ran to a Muggle for Merlin’s sake! because he had no where to go, no one to find comfort with. Three years ago the thought of finding refuge with Muggles would have made him laugh hard enough to soil himself. Fate had once again humbled him.

Not only that, he was also a different man. Would his mother be able to see it? Would she understand? Hermione was never mentioned between mother and son, not even during the trial. He was too much of coward to bring the subject up and Narcissa... why didn’t she? His relationship with Hermione was no secret and even though both trials were conducted separately, Hermione’s testimony on his behalf should have reached Narcissa. Yet, not a word was uttered by his mother about it. Questions, questions and more questions and he had no answers to any of them. Guilt, remorse and rage were still with him, his ever faithful friends.

The small room was closing in on him. He had no idea what time it was, only that it was still day time. Sunlight came in from behind him which meant it was afternoon since Nick’s backyard faced South. Groaning, Draco rose up, dragging himself outside. He breathed in and immediately after, his torso complained. Draco swore loudly. “Fucking bloody Muggles! ”

“And good afternoon to you too, about time! I was getting bored up here!” Suzy Aisling, the youngest of the Aisling household, jumped from the tree giving shade to the shed.

A startled Draco glared at the girl and proceeded to walk towards the house. Suzy stopped him by standing in his path. “Holy crap! That was some beating! Did a tank run over you?!”

Draco’s right hand pushed Suzy to the side and he continued towards the house. “Mum! Draco is awake and he is not being nice! He swore!” Yelled Suzy as they both made their way into the house and once again Suzy stood in Draco’s path. “And what the hell are Muggles?”

Draco was about to swear some more when Maggie made her entrance. “Feeling any better?” Directing her gaze to her youngest Maggie asked Draco, “did she wake you?”

“I didn’t, I swear! He just came out of the shed and,” this time it was Suzy who glared at the injured man, “he swore and pushed me!”

Maggie shook his head and taking Draco by the arm prompted him to sit on one of the chairs surrounding the small table in the kitchen. “Would you rather have some tea or change your clothes first? And you, ” she addressed Suzy, “Weren’t you supposed to fetch your Dad?”

“He wasn’t at Con’s” answered Suzy sitting on top of the counter, opening the cabinet behind her looking for something to eat. “I would like some cookies with my tea. Where are they?”

Maggie closed her eyes and counted to three before facing her daughter. “Your Dad must be at Con’s garage not his house. Stop being a nuisance and go, now.”

Suzy left the kitchen grunting and murmuring under her breath. Maggie picked up a plastic bag from the counter and handed it to Draco. “These are brand new. We keep new clothes at the center, just in case.”

Draco stared at the bag hanging from Maggie’s hand. He shook his head and said, “I’d better go, thank you anyway.” His grey gaze was one of contradicting emotions Maggie had seen in the course of her years working in the center.

She had seen too many boys and young men despairing and feel abandoned to not know that Draco was wrestling with his pride and his suffering. She had come in contact with the enigmatic Mr. Malfoy three times in the past few months. He was a gentleman, well spoken, elegant, smooth hands, with a way about him which told her Draco came from money and wasn’t used to hardships or manual labour, and yet there were similarities between the enigmatic young man looking at her with those grey as a cloudy sky eyes and with the poor souls she encountered on a daily basis. On the other hand, who said rich, well off children were spared the horrors of physical, sexual abuse or whatever other horrors human beings inflicted on each other? Maybe Draco ran away from a nightmare of a life because, why would those grey eyes of his displayed so much torment?

So many of them had slipped through her hands! But he was there, at her house, because he had no place to go, no one to lean on. She wasn’t about to let him go. Now, if Nick would stop playing with that bloody car of his!

“I’m sure you don’t want to go outside looking like that. Once you freshen up and have something to eat you’ll feel better. Mind you, I’ll have to wrap those bandages of yours with plastic, they can’t get wet.” Draco was about to protest but Maggie had already turned looking for a plastic bag which she could use.

“Here, these will do.” She turned smiling, finding Draco standing, ready to leave. She chose to ignore it. “I guess a bath is out of the question, maybe a quick shower. Here let’s get you upstairs. I have everything ready for you in our bathroom.”

“Mrs. Aisling... I really need to go.” He said the words but not convincingly.

“You can’t face her looking like this Draco. Dry blood in your hair, your face all black and blue and these dreadful clothes.” Maggie was guiding him upstairs as she continue talking. “You make your self presentable and after, you must eat. Then we will figure out the rest.”

Opening the door to the master bedroom she prompted him to go in first. In silence she helped him wrapped his bandages to protect them from the water. He sat on the bed and with great effort took his trainers off, trying to hide the pain emanating from his injured ribs. When he lifted his face, Draco found Maggie standing with a towel in her hand, smiling again with such tenderness Draco felt mesmerized by it. Maggie took Draco’s face in her hands, her light brown eyes filled with compassion and concern and suddenly she kissed both sides of his face.

“It’s going to work out, you’ll see. Now be a good boy and go in. I’ll have tea ready, something to tie you over until supper.”

Maggie left the room, humming a happy tune. In a daze Draco did as he was told. What was wrong with him?. What kind of Muggles were the Aislings? Forget Muggles! What kind of people would open their house to a virtual stranger, take care of his wounds, feed him and act as if this kind of incident was an every day thing! They knew nothing about him, he never said much the few times Nick invited him over and yet, some of the things they said... What if they were not Muggles? Maybe they abandoned the wizarding world, ran away during the first war? Aside from Hermione and his mother, no one had ever been kind to him. He was feared, or despised but never had he inspired anything remotely similar to what he was experiencing with Nick’s family. The only reason the Aislings opened their home to him was because the Malfoy name meant nothing to them, or did it? The warm water flowing down his bruised body stopped his thoughts from going any further. Closing his eyes Draco let Maggie’s words cradled his soul, _‘It’s going to work out, you’ll see’_

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Sitting on the bed Draco stared into space, as if his gaze could penetrate the walls and venture into the outside world. Falling into that kind of trance was a habit he acquired in Azkaban. A defense mechanism to keep his sanity after the Dementors’ visits and, for reasons which escaped him he kept falling into without warning after his release.

Blinking rapidly, he looked around him disconcerted until his head cleared and he realized where he was. The different aches and pains throughout his body brought him back to reality, back to a Draco he couldn’t understand and loathed with all his heart.

Nothing had changed aside from the decision he came to as the warm water slid down his body. His features contorted as he stood up. Taking Nick’s shirt and his own tattered pants with him he strolled towards the stairs telling himself not to fall prey to Maggie Aisling’s manipulations, again. Half way down, he stopped. His mouth watered and his stomach informed him of the emptiness within it. The smell of something delicious reached his nostrils.

“Tea is ready. Here, let me have those. You are definitely not taking these rags back with you.” Maggie had climb the few steps and took the clothes from Draco. Before he could say a word, she had dragged him to a chair presenting him with a cup of tea and a couple of sandwiches. “Supper is still an hour or so away. You must be famished! Shower went okay? Did the plastic help? I must take a look at those bandages, they need to be tighten again”

He was going to turn down supper but truth be told, he was starving! His stomach growled once more. He agreed with its opinion, Maggie’s Aisling home cooking was unique and oh so scrumptious! He should stay and eat a proper meal. In less than a minute he downed the sandwiches and finished his tea. Maggie was humming again. She left the kitchen and came shortly after.

“You were hungry, that is good sign.” She retrieved the plate and cup. “I’m glad you didn’t put on the clothes I gave you, those look better on you. Mind you, those trainers!”

A bang coming from the sitting room echoed through the small house. Suzy made her appearance without even acknowledging her mother. “Dad says to come with me once you finished your shower” She told Draco.

“ Susanna Aisling, how many times do I have to tell you: do not run into the house banging the door and...” Maggie paused, “What have you been doing? Look at you!”

Suzy examined herself shrugging her shoulders. Grease stains were on her face and pants. Like her dad, cars were one of her favourite hobbies. “I was helping Dad, Con is not at home.”

Maggie turned to Draco. “People asked me if I miss not having boys, do you think I do? Four daughters! All sports crazy, daredevils and one crazy about cars!”

Cars! Draco had avoided them like the plague. Metal boxes, metal coffins was a better description, spewing all sorts of gases, noisy and one could not fly them! Maggie Aisling had a point though; her daughters were like no Muggle he ever met. Outspoken, sure of themselves and...dare he say it even if not out loud, stunningly beautiful. Tall, slender, their skin had that sun tanned pigmentation he had seen in people from the East, thick black long hair and eyes, those eyes..., the most perfect amber like irises, elongated, luscious eyelashes like those of a Persian princess. He felt a little tug in his chest. What would Hermione think if she met the Aislings? Hermione... his mother... him living like a pauper, inspiring pity. No matter where his thoughts lead him their destination was the same: Hermione, his mother, his guilt.

“Hey! Let’s go!” Suzy was pulling him by one of his arms and out of his self-pity thoughts. “We don’t have much time and I really want to go for a ride, come on! Let’s go!”

Would it be so bad to hex a fourteen year old Muggle girl? Draco thought as he let himself being dragged by Suzy while Maggie’s warning reached them before the door closed behind them. “You are not to ride with your dad, are you listening Susanna Aisling! You both will be in a lot of trouble if I hear from Draco that you disobeyed me. Are you listening!”

The bang on the door was the answer to her warnings. Maggie stood by the kitchen's doorway smiling tenderly. Draco’s murderous gaze didn’t escape her. Her daughters had learned to ignore gestures and words coming from her ‘lost causes’ as her family called her boys. They also learned in the course of all her years involved with the Foundation and The Center to feel compassion and understanding toward those less fortunate. Compassion which didn’t involved pity and understanding which didn’t mean excusing the wrong choices the boys made.

It was amazing how quickly her daughters had picked on her not so orthodox way of dealing with her ‘clients’. She shook her head, smiling still. Draco wanted to run but hadn’t. A good sign indeed! Humming her happy tune, she went back to the kitchen to finish supper.

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Susy’s chatter was a distant noise blending in with the neighbourhood’s sounds. Draco followed her, forgetting he had every intention of excusing himself and take his leave. Instead his mind wandered. It was hard to believe that in the span of a little over a day his life, once again, had turned upside down. He was able to think about Hermione without falling into abject desperation leaving him with the guilt and shame he was so familiar with.

His legs stopped on their own while it took his mind a bit longer to process what was happening. Somehow his body arrived at his destination first, his thoughts made a hasty retreat a few seconds behind just in time to hear Nick’s mocking words as the older man examined a clean, better dressed Draco, “Much better, still a sorry sight but much better”

Suzy giggled at her father’s remarks. Draco seared Susy with his eyes. Nick saw his reaction but Draco, unfazed by it, held the man’s gaze for a few seconds after which he turned his attention to his surroundings. He felt crowded in the small garage and his nostrils wrinkled as the smell of grease, petrol and strong coffee assaulted him. He had been living amongst Muggles for a while and yet there was still lots to learn, not that he really cared to learn more than what was needed. To find Hermione, he acquired the skills and knowledge required to accomplish his task while at the same time keeping himself invisible. For that he had to thank Knockturn Alley, of all places! Those living in the shadows of dark magic or other criminal activities had a better understanding of the necessity of Muggle and the magical worlds to cooperate and help each other. Voldemort’s defeat helped increased such cooperation, as former Death Eaters and sympathizers of the Dark Lord fled persecution or retribution. The art of creating faked documents such as passports, identity cards, work permits and such became an industry he had no idea existed. Had Hermione known about it, it would have taken not months but years to locate her.

Nick was using a piece of cloth to give the last touches to his and Con’s refurbished 1973 Ford Mustang. Grinning from ear Nick stood by his jewel, the apple of his eye, after his four daughters, of course. Draco raised one of his eyebrows.

“Well?” Nick asked expectantly. “What do you think?”

‘ _Think about what?’_ , wonder Draco.

Nick let out an exasperated grunt and grabbed Draco by his left arm while sitting on the working table, Suzy shook her head disapprovingly. “You have nothing to say about this beauty?” Nick pressed on.

No, Draco had nothing to say because the wizard had no idea what exactly was he supposed to say about a death trap like an automobile no matter how shiny or colourful.

“This my friend is my baby. Seven years of blood, sweat, wheeling and dealing and a few nights banished in my office but now, look at it! And you and I are going to take her for a spin!” Nick could barely contain himself.

Cars had a gender? Draco turned his grey, confused eyes toward Suzy. “Don’t let me stop you short thing, go with your dad”

“Can I dad? Draco won’t tell mum, would you?” Suzy was already opening the passenger door but Nick intervened. “Sorry my lady but your mum will kill me.”

Suzy contracted her brows angrily. Nick kissed her forehead. “I know I promised but not today. The job fair is coming in a week. Mum will be gone most of the weekend. I’ll take you then.”

Crossing her arms around her chest Suzy jumped back into the working table. “You’d better bring me some ice cream then.”

“Ice cream for the princess, remind me Draco” Nick sat on the driver side. “Get in”

‘ _I did want to die’,_ Draco reminded himself. He took his seat beside his Muggle friend. Draco watched Nick putting the seat belt on and tried to imitate him failing miserably. Nick gave him a puzzled gaze and helped Draco with it.

They rode in silence. Nick smiling and glancing from the corner of his eye at his companion, sensing Draco’s discomfort which resembled apprehension more than anything else. After a long while they were in what appeared to be a country road and then Draco’s heart all but stopped switching to a fast pace beat as if trying to keep up with the car’s frantic speed. He wanted to scream in fear but his throat closed up just as his eyes did the same. Wind lifted his long hair from the back of his neck.

Were they flying? Was that the reason for the wild wind inside the car? He half-opened his eyes. Fear was replaced by awe. True, they were still on the ground but the speed at which they were going was... exhilarating, thrilling, almost as if he were reaching for the highest height in his broom. The tightness in his chest eased up, the hands he kept under his thighs in numbing fists came from their hiding place and this time it was his turn to glance at Nick who returned the gesture. Pride and excitement dancing in his eyes. “Just watch her go!” Nick exclaimed.

Draco smiled back at Nick. His first true smile since he knocked on Nick’s door. “I never imagined Mug... I never realized cars could... Bloody, fucking Merlin!” That’s all he could come with as a commentary.

And so Nick laughed, a happy, satisfied laugh. “Turn down your window Draco.” Draco followed Nick’s gaze and after fumbling with every knob on the door he finally figured it out. His eyes darted left and right, the beating of his heart was a joyous one. For whatever time the Muggle wonder flew by trees and clouds raced by in the sky, Draco Malfoy forgot about how just a few hours ago he had wished to die.

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Almost two hours after, Nick and Draco made their way into the garage. Draco waited for Nick to open the door imitating Nick's actions with the handle. Nick walked over the small, dirty fridge on top of the working table placed the promised ice cream inside and took two bottles of beer, handing one to Draco. Again, Draco said nothing, nodding his head. Opposite to his behaviour earlier, the young man examined the car more closely and in turn Nick studied him. Resting his hips against the table Nick pondered about Draco’s odd comments and reactions. For instance: his unfamiliarity with cars. Yes, Draco walked to work, that much he knew but...not being able to strap himself, struggling to lower the window? He was about to say that word again, what was it? Muggle? What was that? Swearing by Merlin! That one he’d never heard and he had heard every English swear word known to men. What to make of his outburst in the morning? ‘Healer’, ‘potions’. Where the hell did Draco come from? What kind of life had he left behind? What was he running from?

Draco wasn’t about to open up and talk about himself. It was uncanny how much Draco reminded Nick of his past self. Nick placed his hands on the edge of the table and erected himself.

“Come, I want to show something” Draco followed Nick without saying a word, glancing back at the car as they turned the corner of Con’s garage. What Draco walked into was a sorry sight. All sorts of rusted Muggle junk littered the so called backyard. From chairs to stoves to Merlin knew what else, Con’s garden was more like the last resting place of things no one wanted. Brown patches replaced a poorly watered garden and the fence gave the impression of a moving wave, it was so crooked. Nick and Draco stood next to something covered by a huge, thick blanket.

“Con and I found this gem in a junk yard in Bristol” Nick lowered his voice, “Maggie doesn’t know.”

Like a magician about to dazzled his audience Nick lifted the cover. A cloud of dust engulfed both men. Once it settled all Draco saw was a really sorry excuse of a car, if that is what Nick wished to call the carcass in front of them.

“I know, I know. It needs work” Draco’s grey mocking gaze only encouraged Nick to continue. “Just think that once, that beauty in the garage looked just like this. Don’t think about the way it looks now, think about its potential”

Draco strolled around the ruins Nick was so excited about. Sometimes Muggles surprised him and in a good way. How could something so hideous, hopeless could be transformed in a gem, as Nick said, without the use of magic?

“It is a Citroen. That, we know. The year we are not sure, early seventies? Who cares!” Nick walked a few paces and picked a metal box from the ground, placing it on top of the hood of the car. Then he walked a few metres towards the back of the garage. An slanted, dirty old cabinet of sorts leaned against the wooden wall. Nick opened one of its doors and extracted a shoe size cardboard box. From the tool box on the hood, because that is what the metal box was, Nick took a screwdriver. “Here, you do it”

Nick let out a sigh. “This is a Philips screwdriver, ever seen one? Use one?” He inquired as Draco took it from his hand, the wrong way. “No? Well it’s never to late to learn.”

Inserting his head through the window of the car, Nick openened the driver’s door from the inside. “Sit, you are going to install the rearview mirror. I bought it for peanuts a few weeks ago.”

Draco sat as directed and following Nick’s instructions managed to install the mirror. Although he wasn’t about to admit it, he felt something close to pride at being able to use a Muggle tool successfully. After, Nick proceeded to explain about his fascination with rebuilding old cars. Draco tried to conceal his fascination and eagerness to learn more about what he now considered the most amazing Muggle invention he had ever encountered. He asked questions, tons of them. Nick each one, no matter how silly or strange they were because Nick saw this reaction as the opportunity he had been looking for.

“I guess supper is not ready yet. Maybe you and I can start putting this Humpty Dumpty together again” Whoever or whatever that Humpty Dumpty was, and why it needed to be put together again when Nick had a more pressing matter like the not so together car he just raved about, totally escaped Draco. Muggles were strange people! Back in the garage the battered Citroen’s engine hung from thick chains bolted to the roof. Nick lowered it to the working table and he and Draco proceeded to reveal its secrets. What may be working, what needed to be work on. Draco understood then whom Nick referred to as Humpty Dumpty and decided to find out more about the Dumpty bloke in a library.

“I remember the first time Susy and I worked on an engine, much like this one. Her little, soft hands in mine...” Nick paused, reminiscing. Staring at Draco he continued, “One day, I hope, you’ll be able to pass on to your children some of what you’re passionate about. It’s hard to explain how you feel about that.”

So relaxed and immersed was Draco in what he was doing his words came out without him thinking. “John Albus is barely two years old and I can’t wait to get him his first br...” Draco stilled for a fraction of a second, kicking himself mentally for his indiscretion.

“You have a son, congratulations! Two years old! Please tell me he looks like his mother. Actually, is he as pleasant as you are? You know, outgoing, all smiles, just like you?” The wide grin in Nick’s features puzzled Draco. He just admitted to having a son and Nick acted as if such revelation was of no consequence, on the contrary, Nick was happy for him! No questions, no words of surprise. The Aisling family was certainly out of both worlds. Having said more than he meant, he turned his attention back to his wrench and what he now knew was called a hex nut.

“My son... I just met him a few weeks ago” The words just kept coming out and Draco couldn’t help it.

“Better now than never, don’t you think? Is the mother the same girl you’ve been pining for all these months? The one you had the row with yesterday?” As soon as Draco gave any hints of clamming down, Nick promised himself he would stop with his probing. In the meantime he had to try to get as much information as he could.

No answer from the blond man which of course translated into yes to his question. Back to the engine then. Nick brought a grease stained, worn out book from underneath the working table. “Here, take it with you. The kids at the centre use it to learn the basics about cars and such. It’s Susy’s, I know she wouldn’t mind lending it to you”

“Are you sure? She has a mouth your daughter, and she doesn’t like me” The teasing remarks provoke a smirk on Nick’s face.

“She is not afraid of you or anyone. She knows you’re all bark and no bite. And that mouth believe it or not, she inherited from her mother” said Nick with tenderness.

“Mrs. Aisling is a lady” said Draco almost defensively thinking of his mother as well.

“That she is but don’t get in her way and you’ll see a tigress with claws ready to rip you apart and by the way... my daughters are all ladies mister, don’t you forget that” Draco’s defense of Maggie pleased Nick.

Nick busied himself with one of the toolboxes. Through the corner of his eye Draco saw Nick’s face tensed a little. “Women are complex creatures. When I met Maggie I thought she was so out of my reach I forced myself to ignore her. I was angry and lost and she so together, always smiling, always kind. It bugged me really, that I could be attracted to her when she and I had nothing in common. She had every reason to want nothing to do with someone so despicable, unworthy. To this day I can’t believe she fell in love with me, with me! A street kid, a thug with no schooling, in and out of jail, biting the very hand that fed me...” A long paused ensued. Nick debated with himself. He went with what he sensed was the right path. “If your girl is anything like my Maggie, don’t let her get away Draco. Don’t give up.”

Rolling the sleeve of his shirt Nick pointed at the scar on his right arm. 'Dark Shadow', that’s what we called ourselves. Having no real family of my own I thought they were the real deal. ‘We stick together’, ‘One for all and all for one’, ‘Don't worry mate you have a family now’, what a load of rubbish!” Nick’s angered comments were met by a darkened grey gaze.

“I have blood in my hands Draco and every time I saw that stupid tattoo on my arm I was reminded of it. One day...I almost die, but I carved it out. Now I have the scar to remind me of how deep in the gutter I was and how lucky I am that Maggie and her father were there to pull me out.”

Nick leaned back on the table and search for Draco’s eyes, holding his gaze forcing Draco to say with his eyes what he couldn’t say out loud. Draco struggled with what he heard and with what it made him feel. His right hand caressed the place where the Dark Mark used to be, Nick’s eyes followed. Both lifted their heads at the same time and their eyes met. Somehow words were not warranted.

Draco picked up the wrench and tried once again to take care of the stubborn nut. Frustrated he cursed loudly. Nick offered help but Draco refused. When Draco finally unfastened the blasted little thing, Nick patted his back and Draco held on to the fastener as if it were a coveted prized.

Maggie decided to come out of her hiding place, not before wiping the tears shed while she listened to Nick talk about his past mistakes. Squaring her shoulders and feigning indignation she stormed in. “Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for you two?! And isn’t it just grand! Look at the both you! Grease, dirt all over!”

Nick and Draco looked at each other. Their hands were dirty and so were parts of their shirts and pants. Both hands on her hips, frowning at them Maggie added, “Don’t just stand there! The girls are waiting! And don’t you dare sit at the table without washing up. Honestly! Men and their stupid cars!”

Draco was the last one to leave. He could have turned right, instead of left and disappeared, maybe forever. On his way out, he stopped and went back to the fridge. Ice cream in hand he turned left.

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Supper with the Aislings was a fascinating and intimidating affair for Draco Malfoy. He could barely hear his own thoughts. There were lots of smiles and lots and lots of conversation. Today it was about Draco’s ride with Nick and Connie’s football game. Connie being the second oldest, twenty years old, and crazy about ‘football’ just like most of the Muggles he’d met. The events of the day, any day were of interest to all. They were all aware that Nicky, the oldest daughter had finals the week coming so they inquired about it. Connie was considering changing schools and of course Maggie had something to say about that. Gabriella was fed up with Susy ‘borrowing’ her clothes and Susy was still crossed with her father and mother for not allowing her to be the first to ride with Dad for after all she was the one who helped Nick with its repairs and Draco was not even family. That comment was promptly rebuked by a very stern scolding from Maggie and Nick. Draco couldn’t help but gifting Susy with a satisfied smirk which of course resulted in a killing gaze from the ‘short thing’.

Supper at the Manor was the opposite. No smiles, no conversation unless Father asked a question. Mother smiled, not really, more like forced her lips to pretend a smile the few times Lucius addressed her. Whereas the Aislings talked about everything the constant with the Malfoys were Mudbloods, the ineptness of the Ministry, and of course The Dark Lord, always The Dark Lord. With the Aislings the cacophony of sounds and food smells gave the whole ambiance colour, music. With the Malfoys aside from the elves coming in and out all Draco could remember were the soft clinking of cutlery. His parents loved him, he never doubted it. His mother paid dearly for that love and his father, well his father’s love for his son was so imbedded with Lucius’s plans for the Malfoy family once Voldemort’s reign was reestablished Draco felt more like the means to an end. He mourned Lucius death, Narcissa’s husband, having come to the conclusion that his father died, years before, the minute The Dark Mark seared his arm.

Draco declined the invitation to stay for a game of cards. Maggie then forced him to allow her to look at his bandages. As he say his goodnights to the girls Maggie gave him a little container with more painkillers and a hug on his way out. Nick offered to walk with him for a while which they did, both saying nothing for a few minutes.

“How fast do you fancy the car’s speed was? ” Draco asked trying to disguise his interest in Nick’s ‘gem’

“I didn’t want to push it, but we managed at least two hundred fifty”. Nick answered. Following his instinct once again he added. “I’ll work some more on the Citroen tomorrow. The engine we can save, I think. The body needs a lot of work. There are the missing seats of course. But that is not as important. If we can’t make the engine work then we have no car. Tuesday you and I can go to a place I know and start looking for parts. Citroens are not that rare.”

Draco and Nick continued their walk. Nick with his hands knotted at his back, Draco’s in the front pockets of his pants. Much was said today, Draco had divulged more about his life to Nick than he ever intended. Nick’s reference to his past sparked great curiosity in Draco and now he was debating whether or not to satisfy it.

“Have you ever killed?” Draco’s blunt question gave Nick a jolt.

His answer was given looking straight into Draco’s eyes. “No, I never pulled the trigger but I might as well. Have you?”

Draco hesitated for a few seconds. The turmoil within him reflected in the sudden tightening of his lips, the tension in his face and his hands, now fists in his pockets. “I was asked to kill a man... I watched the torture of... I allowed....” He couldn’t make himself say it out loud.

He turned and looked at Nick, stopping him on his tracks. Shoving his left arm at the man he said, “Death Eaters, that’s what we called ourselves. I do have blood in my hands. I am a monster!” Draco had transfigured in the matter of seconds. Rage was all around him.

Nick had not moved. His face relaxed, his eyes following Draco’s frantic back and forth pacing. Draco was sinking, drowning was a better description. Torn by his past, pulled by his present and oh so angry and afraid! “But you didn’t kill him, did you? And when you watched them torture those poor souls, all you could do to stop yourself from putting an end to that madness was to bit your tongue so hard it bled because you are not a monster, you are not murderer.”

“And what am I then? What kind of man allows those things to happen? I... My mother, she is there in that foul, hellish place... and Hermione....” Overriding the pain of his injured ribs, Draco lifted his arms and buried his hands on his hair. His steps were more erratic, his breathing more laboured and the anger and desperation were building up inside so rapidly it scared Nick who was starting to doubt he could be of any real help. All he had was the memories of what it was like for him but even that, Nick realized, was not even close to what Draco had experienced but it was all that he had and so he prayed as he always did for guidance and then he spoke.

“If you were a monster would Hermione have fallen in love with you, give you a son?” Nick was going blind. Thinking on his feet.

Draco froze. His arms by his side, his shoulders low, his gaze on the ground. “I can’t face her.” His words were but a whimper, a plea.

“Not today, and maybe not tomorrow but you have to Draco” The older man’s voice was low, intimate and as his words reached Draco the tentacles of those demons he so dreaded started to ease their hold on him. Draco raised his head and locked his gaze with Nick’s.

“You don’t understand you are only a... I have betrayed her...” Draco lamented.

Nick lips twitched. The glint in his eyes revealing understanding. “You slept with someone else. Before or after your row?” Nick asked.

“Before, ...that’s why...” Nick interrupted him rolling his eyes.

“You slept with some bloke’s woman. He and his mates beat you up to a pulp and now we have to figure out how to stop Hermione from killing you. Well, stupidity will never run out of style, that’s for sure” Said Nick amused and annoyed at the same time.

“You don’t understand...” But Nick was too angry to let Draco finish.

“What possessed you to do something so...!? What exactly was the row about?” Nick asked.

“I told her we were going to finish our studies and that we will get married.” Said Draco angrily.

Nick could not help but smile. “You ‘told’ her. And she kicked your ass out of her house. How silly of her!”

“Exactly!” Draco exclaimed.

“Wrong!” Nick almost screamed. “You have a girl who knows about your past, she falls in love with you, God knows why but she does and you go and behaved like the bastard you used to be and you wonder why she slammed the door in your face?”

Draco stood there, amazed at Nicks insights in spite of his half truths. “There is more to my relationship with Hermione. Our past history is... I thought I had it under control...”

“It’s all in the past Draco. You don’t have to tell me. No matter what it is she loves you and you love her.” Nick said, daring to get closer to Draco.

“Nick, the things I said to Hermione...she’ll never forgive me. The whole day was a disaster. After you sent me home I had every intention to go my place but... I don’t know why I did what I did. All these months all I could think of was of Hermione, her and her alone. I never once looked at another woman...” Draco couldn’t continue.

Nick nodded to Draco and they renewed their walk. Silence prevailed for a few moments. “You need to sort yourself out before you see her again.” Nick figured he had nothing to lose by pushing Draco some more. “Your mother may be able to help you.”

At the mention of his mother Draco’s jaw tightened, the veins in his neck quivered. Nick waited patiently for Draco’s response. There was an urgency in Nick to gather as much information as he could before the door was shut, probably permanently.

“My mother wouldn’t want to me see either.” Said Draco with harshness.

“No matter what the girls do or say Maggie would never stay angry with them. Your mother is no different.” he said.

“What do you know about my mother! She is...”

Nick interjected, “In that foul, hellish place, so you told me. She is still your mother. I assume she is in jail?” Every question, every assertion he made was a risk Nick was willing to take. He held his breath, waiting for Draco’s answer.

“Almost three years. She hasn’t heard from me because I have been too much of a coward to...” he said as his hands became fists again.

No wonder the poor kid held so much anger in him! A past to be ashamed of, woman trouble, a son and a mother in jail. Perfect combination to make a bloke do one stupid thing after other! “What are you going to do about it?” Nick challenged Draco with his question. Time to push the lad a bit more.

“I am going to see Mother, tomorrow.” said Draco with determination.

“I’d say about time!” Nick gave Draco an approving slap on his back, not before letting the air he had been holding for a long while out of his lungs.

“If you are going to see your mother, you definitely need your beauty sleep, decent clothes. Maggie will see to that.”

Nick was opening the door to his house. Draco looked behind him. Weren’t they walking away instead of towards Nick’s house? “Come on!” Nick pushed Draco inside.

Maggie turned her attention away from the TV, hiding her surprise at having Draco back, looking disoriented and slightly embarrassed. Husband and wife crossed gazes. Explanations would have to wait. “Draco is going to visit his mother tomorrow and then we need to sit down and help him with Hermione, his future wife and mother of his child.”

 


	26. Chapter 26

  
Author's notes:

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  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

** A/N: ** **Many thanks to my beta Kayla Edogawa formerly known as Victoria Weasley. It has been a learning experience working with you.**

**Hugs, abrazos to all.**

  Elena

 

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 Chapter 26: You’d Rather Talk!

The early, peaceful morning sounds were suddenly subverted by the stomping on the stairs, the forceful swing of the door and Ginny’s fuming expression as she made her entrance in the small kitchen.  Three pair of eyes converged on the youngest Weasley. Molly and Arthur exchanged glances and turned their gaze toward Harry who shrugged his shoulders claiming ignorance and innocence. Ginny’s parents continued their morning activities in silence, both sure that whatever had their daughter in a fouled mood had nothing to do with them and more to do with the young man sitting at table. Harry’s confusion and concern was masked by a faint smile and the straightening of his shoulders.

 “Morning Gin” Harry greeted, testing the waters.

  Ginny walked around the table, behind Harry and helped herself to a biscuit and tea. Retracing her steps, she sat at the very end of the table close to the door. Without saying a word she sipped her tea staring into space through the rim of her cup. With the cup still on her lips she stared at Harry until he broke the tense silence, refusing to be intimidated by his girlfriend.

 “Hermione called a few minutes ago. She is expecting us no later than nine this morning or there’ll be hell to pay” Harry quoted Hermione’s warning as his lips procured a teasing smile.

 Arthur and Molly smiled with him, but Ginny kept her dark, angered amber gaze on Harry. “I was about to floo here when the mobile went on.” Harry switched subjects. “I’m glad you had a good night sleep”

  Those light brown orbs shot firing arrows at Harry. Rising, Ginny left the kitchen, slamming the door on her way out. More stomping was heard as her feet punished the rundown stairs to her room, and another door suffered the wrath of the young witch.

 Back in the kitchen the very small tornado named Ginny left its occupants baffled.  “You better get it over with Harry.”  Arthur advised with a twinkle in his eyes.

 Placing the palms of his hands on the table Harry lifted himself up, sighing loudly. He had only managed three hours of sleep. The day before had been a roller coaster of sorts and although exhausted the excitement had him too wound up to relax into a restoring slumber. Dragging his feet he walked into the sitting room and gave the stairs to the second floor an ominous glance. He couldn’t think of what he’d done or said to warrant Ginny’s anger. The tensed features became less rigid changing into a tender aura. He didn’t care, he loved his Ginny with all his heart, body and soul. Climbing the stairs Harry promised not to let his temper get the best of him. Knocking softly on the door, Harry waited for either to be asked to come in or for Ginny to let him in: nothing. She was there, that’s for sure. He could hear her pacing, muttering angry words spiced up with not so lady like curses.

 He took hold of the knob and turned it slowly. Ginny stood by the window, giving her back to Harry. The first two drawers of her dresser were half open, probably the result of her temper; the chair in front of her desk was down on the floor. Considering the not so subtle message in her behaviour downstairs, a fallen chair and a barely touched dresser were not a bad sign, Harry concluded. He stood by the door without moving any farther or uttering a word. He had no idea what to say and dreaded saying something which would add more fire to an already precarious situation.

 Ginny turned around flashing Harry an angry glance. Her arms were crossed tightly around her upper chest, lifting her breasts distracting Harry for a few seconds. His hands went into his front pockets, the warm  throbbing between his legs and the sudden southern flow of blood below his waist perplexed him. Of all the times to lust after his girlfriend! If Ginny lowered her eyes and saw that...

  “Well?!”  She asked planting her hands on her hips. “Don’t just stand there!”

 Harry rolled on the heel of his feet a little. “I ––” was the only word he was able to conjured up feeling warmth rush to his face as her breasts rose and fell against her arms.

  Ginny’s hands went up in the air. “Right, nothing! You went to play hero again and there I was, left behind, wondering, worried sick. And you, you––” She inhaled deeply. “Dad and Hermione came back and told us you’d be back shortly, GUESS WHAT?!” She screamed while at the same time a pillow flew by Harry’s face, landing on the hallway.

  Contrary to popular belief, Ginny’s fiery temper seldom came to the surface. The few times it did one was better off letting it run its course. Not that Harry ever did, having a hard time controlling his emotions which happened to be the case at that very moment. Between his unwelcome arousal and his confusion his concentration was lacking. However, he had made a promise; he was to rebuild his relationship with Ginny and being dragged into a shouting match with his girlfriend was not the best approach. He closed his eyes praying silently for restrain.

  “YOU DID NOT COME BACK!”  Ginny answered her own question frustrated with Harry’s silence.

 “You were asleep” Said Harry softly looking directly at the young woman’s eyes.

  “Of course I was asleep! I told you I waited and waited!” She found herself clinging to the one pillow left.

 “I know you were asleep because I came back”  Harry admitted. “You were sleeping on the sofa. I took you to your room.” Harry added.

  “You took me upstairs?” She asked calmly, frowning.

  “I’m a wizard Gin, remember? You were sound asleep and as much as I wanted to tell you all about The Manor and what I found out, I thought it’d better to wait till morning.”  Harry made his way toward Ginny.

  Ginny hugged her pillow, using it as a barrier, linking her gaze with Harry’s. Surprisingly Harry wasn’t angry. Those beautiful green gems of his displayed many emotions but the expected anger at her remarks was conspicuous by its absence. A first in a long, long time. “So, once again you took it upon yourself to make decisions for me”  The sentiment of her words and the reproach in her eyes were not lost to Harry.

  He felt guilty once again. The one issue he thought Ginny had overcome was back in the forefront. After the war, their first big row was about Harry’s decision to finish their relationship as soon it had started. She resented being left out of his life because of some distorted sense of duty and she most certainly despised the fact that he dared think she couldn’t take care of herself. Harry explained why he did it. She yelled, he did the same. She cried, he took her in his arms. She blurted a few harsh words and eventually accepted his reasons and his countless apologies, or so he thought. However, there were not similarities with the events of the day before and those of years ago. What was he supposed to do when Hermione was as desperate as to go back to The Manor, alone? They, he, Ron and Hermione said very little about those months away hunting for Horcruxes and nothing about the sad, harrowing events at The Manor. At least no on purpose. The press asked, more like hounded them, they ignored it. The Ministry requested a report, Harry rejected  it no matter how many official parchments were sent to him and when that didn’t work then it was up to a few somber looking officials advising him to comply. He refused hundreds of times. Kingsley Shackelbolt threatened him, Harry threatened him back. Details did come out during the investigations and persecutions of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy and the other Death Eaters. By then Harry and Ron were no longer in speaking terms with Hermione, a fact which added to his  already precarious mental state and his refusal to ever speak about the years previous to May 2, 1998.

  In hindsight Ron and Hermione were not doing that great either. What other proof did he need other than the sorry state of their friendship or the path each of them chose three years after their triumph over Voldemort?

  Ginny was looking out the window again. Harry placed his hands on her shoulders pulling her against him. “I’m sorry Ginny, I wasn’t thinking”  He pushed her hair away and kissed her neck softly. Ginny leaned on him, tilting her head so that he could have better access. The pillow landed at Ginny’s feet.

   Harry’s lips resumed their ministrations on her neck. She relaxed some and Harry interpreted it as an invitation to deepen his explorations. He roped his arms around Ginny’s waist and trailed light kisses from her right lobe all the way to her shoulder.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about what happened at The Manor, you know, during the war? Or about Dobby?” She asked. Harry lifted his head bringing his chin against Ginny’s right temple. She had welcomed his caress but the recrimination in her voice was unmistakable. His embrace wasn’t enough to distract her.

 “You’ve never trusted in me Harry.” She asserted.

   “That’s not true” He replied.

   Ginny disengaged herself from his embrace. Turning slowly she faced the man she was madly in love with. Harry took her hands in his. Her last words hid the one emotion she was truly ashamed of but couldn’t stop from coming to the surface: jealousy. She was, had been jealous of Hermione ever since Harry left that fateful day of Bill and Fleur’s wedding. She may have been jealous long before that fateful day.

  “You trust Hermione. You still trust Ron, even after he lied to you. They know the ‘whys’, I know the ‘whats.’” It was almost an accusation. Ginny lowered her gaze focusing on Harry’s long, calloused fingers. Ashamed and angry at herself Ginny couldn’t let Harry know about what her heart had been hiding for so many years.

  “The whys?” Harry asked, she wasn’t making any sense.

  “Hermione knows why you don’t talk about the months you went away, of Doby’s death, The Manor, the Dursleys. All I know is what it all did to you”  Ginny  was there to pick up the pieces, take whatever crumbs he tossed at her but she was not his friend, his confidant. Maybe because of lack of sleep, maybe because she was afraid he would see the reason behind her words or maybe just because, she clung to him. All anger had sipped away from her. In spite of her feelings and her resolve to demand more of Harry, she was afraid of losing him.

  “Ginny I love you, you’ve got to believe me”  He felt her sigh on his chest and she most likely was aware of the anxious beating of his heart. 

 She tilted her head up. “Then why is it that you can tell her things?” She found herself asking out loud.

 Harry struggled for an answer. The delay in his response was interpreted by Ginny as a confirmation of her doubts, her insecurity.

  “Hermione is my friend, we went through a lot together.” He offered as an answer, not at all sure where their argument was heading. Afraid of admitting that part of him was too proud to speak about his fears and sorrows while the other was ashamed of being alive while Sirius, Fred, Remus and so many others made the ultimate sacrifice. Somehow with Hermione talking about it felt different while with Ginny––

 Ginny brought her hands to his chest and pushed him away not out of anger but disappointment. “And I am your girlfriend and for years I’ve been fighting against this,” she gestured her hands at him and went on, “this whatever it is you two have!”

  “Ginny you are not making any sense. If I didn’t know you any better, I’d think you are jealous of Hermione!” Harry exclaimed amused.

  The dismissal of her feelings incensed and tore at Ginny’s heart. So much so that she was speechless, commanding the tears gathering in her eyes to make a quick retreat. Soon after she picked the pillow up from the floor, dropped it on the bed and in quick steps walked by Harry. As she existed the room, she said,  “We better go, Hermione is waiting”

 Ginny was jealous of Hermione? Harry shook his head. He must have misunderstood. It was Ginny who spend weeks looking for her, Ginny who made that passionate speech about what he and Ron owed Hermione and it was Ginny who had become Hermione’s champion. No, it was absurd.  Shaking his head again in an attempt to brushed away the outrageous thoughts, Harry made his way downstairs.

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  The clock on the wall chimed. It was barely eight o’clock when Harry returned to the kitchen. Too early to Apparate in the vicinity of Hermione’s home. Harry sat beside Ginny, examining her now calmed and cryptic profile. She was finishing her breakfast, lost in thought. Harry found himself mesmerized by the way the sunlight made the amber strands on her hair shine enhancing it with orange sparks here and there and his hand found itself caressing it tenderly. She turned to look at him; he frowned. His heart stopped only to hammer against  his chest. The spark in her eyes was gone, her lips attempted to procure something similar to a smile but failed miserably. He had hurt her, again, but wasn’t sure why.

  “I’ve prepared a plate with cake and cookies for John Albus, there is also a little something for Hermione’s parents.” Molly placed the two packages in the middle of the table and then sat slightly out of breath. The back door creaked and in came Arthur, dusting his hands off on his pants.

  “It’s going to be a warm day” he said, sitting beside his wife. “I couldn’t find the cauldron love.” he added addressing Molly.

  “Thank you dear” Molly smiled tenderly at her husband and then turned her attention to Harry and Ginny. “I am preparing Fleur something to help her with this pregnancy. She can’t go on like this, not eating and barely drinking, she is all skin and bones! I was sure the cauldron was in the shed, oh well!”

   Harry offered a timid smile at his girlfriend, she, in return took his hand underneath the table as if saying that  all was well between them but Harry knew better and this time he wasn’t going to turn a blind eye to it.

 Arthur cleared his throat, clasping his hands on top of the table. He hesitated for a few seconds and then said. “Harry, Ginny is here now and we are curious, I mean... it’s not what you think, we do care–– Incidents, you know, beatings, vandalism are few and far in between these days and this one–– The Manor was one of the first homes targeted and you’ve seen the damage. In fact we are worried. The thing is, Molly and I were thinking––”

  “That whoever went after Draco, might go after Hermione and John Albus.” Harry said, fisting his hands on his lap. The harshness in his expression deceived Ginny and her parents. Draco’s elves, although bound by an unbreakable oath not to tell where they side-Apparated their master,  possessed more valuable information than the whereabouts of the wizard Harry felt nothing but an strange kind of pity and a whole lot of gut deep dislike.

 “I don’t think it was anything like that.”  He was not a hundred percent certain Draco’s beating had anything to do with revenge not the revenge the Weasleys were talking about. Should he tell Hermione first? Or, should he speak of his suspicious findings to the three people waiting expectantly for his explanation? He proceeded to speak about something else instead.

  “Did you know the elves at The Manor knew nothing of Lucius Malfoy’s death and of Malfoy and his mother’s trial? Or that Mrs. Malfoy is in Azkaban?”  Harry asked Arthur sounding slightly crossed at the lack of compassion towards the poor creatures. “I spend a good hour consoling them. After what I learned and witnessed of Lucius’ treatment of his house-elves I’d thought the news of his death would have been reason to celebrate.” Harry shook his head as if trying to understand what he saw and heard the night before. “Well, it was a sorry sight. Casper tore his clothes off and started banging his head against the wall, then the others came and after listening to Casper’s cries  they all went mental. Finally, Casper and Dar, the second in command, I reckoned, realized they still have a master to serve and calmed down, some.”

  “Those elves evaded the Ministry as only elves know Harry. I have no idea how they managed but I was told no elf ever came in contact with any member of the Ministry after Voldemort’s defeat. They had all but disappeared. Finally only two were seen by the Aurors and for what I’ve been told, said very little. We don’t even know how many are there.” Said Arthur answering Harry’s implied accusation.

  “I’m surprised we never thought of the elves when Mrs. Malfoy made all those demands. She is one shrewd woman, maybe she ordered the elves to go into hiding until either her or Malfoy came back.”  Harry spoke as if he was thinking aloud, blaming himself for overlooking something so obvious as house-elves.

  “Her only son was about to pay for the sins of his father Harry. Narcissa adores her son, you know that very well. She did everything in her power to protect him not only from Voldemort but of the Wizengamot.”  For the first time Molly intervened in the conversation, knowing very well Harry’s tendency to take blame for things beyond his control. “You did well Harry, you were a better man, in spite of everything. Arthur and Kingsley were and still are very impressed with how you handle the Malfoys. You managed to fool her and yet...Draco was spared a harsher sentence, thanks to you. Narcissa owes you a great debt.”

  Molly eyes glistened remembering Harry’s passionate arguments against charging Draco as a Death Eater. Early on he had requested that Narcissa’s and Draco’s injuries were treated at Saint Mungo’s not the Ministry’s medical facilities. Not out of pity or compassion although they were part of the reason. Harry was an honourable man and as such he took it upon himself to honor Severus Snape’s promise to Narcissa. A promise Snape fulfilled but in Harry’s eyes he was duty bound to keep because of what he learned from Severus himself, hours before it all ended. Molly knew Harry wanted to pay homage to a man he learned to respect and admire late in his fight against Voldemort. A man Harry James Potter felt he could never make amends to because Professor Snape like many others pay with his life his defiance to the darkest wizard known in the wizarding world. For as long as he lived, Snape’s promise was now Harry’s to keep.

  Harry, like Molly, was thinking along those same lines and instinctively took Ginny’s hand, sliding closer to her. The warmth of her body, the touch of her hand would help  resist the chill creeping within him. He concentrated in the heat emanating from Ginny’s body, his love for her, in Hermione and John Albus and little by little his heart abated its out of control beating and the images about to assault him vanished. It was the first time he had managed control over those feelings and the mental pictures which had been hunting him for the past three years. His heart did a victory dance of sorts.

  Ginny squirmed on her seat, frowning, turning her gaze to Harry and then to her parents. Harry had turned cold one second, tightening his hold on her hand and then he relaxed his fingers gifting her with the most elated, satisfied glance she had seen in a long while. Whatever that was it didn’t stop her displeasure. The three of them were talking as if she was not there, something she should be used to by now but never could and after the embarrassing discussion she had with Harry upstairs she wasn’t about to bring it up, specially when Harry had her hand in his and his eyes had that soft, peaceful glow in them.

  “You’re probably right Harry”  Arthur added. “The Malfoys must have thought of everything even the unthinkable like the defeat of Voldemort. Then again house-elves are loyal to the death. Lucius and Narcissa knew every kind of dark unbreakable oath there is and The Manor holds many mysteries still and with certainty secret, well protected rooms, caves or what have you for the elves to hide until––”

  Unclasping his hands he pointed at Harry. “¿You talked to them and they talked to you?”  Arthur’s question was full of wonder. “I just realized that––I mean––Casper was most helpful when I Apparated in The Manor yesterday and with Hermione, well you know what he called her, ‘Madame Malfoy’, that needs an explanation” He pointed at Harry again. “And now you tell us they allow you, Harry Potter to question and console them? These are not the same elves the Aurors met back during their investigation, in fact only Casper and ...” He paused for a few seconds scratching his chin, trying to remember, “Not Dar but Tri––Tyk––”

  “Tykir”  Corrected Harry and then added, “There is also Asa, Girta, Aud and Biddy, all females and Eirik”

   “You’d think Draco would have told them about Lucius and Narcissa when he came out of Azkaban”  Said Molly fidgeting with one of the spoons. “He obviously informed them about Hermione” she added.

   “While he was preparing for his trip to Hogsmeade Malfoy told them there was a new Madame Malfoy aside from his mother and that they were to treat her with the utmost respect or the punishment would be severe.” He paused for a short period and shook his head in disbelief as he continued, “And he told them before he left The Manor yesterday that any friend of the new Madame Malfoy should be treated respectfully regardless of whether they were Muggle-born or Half-blood”

  Birds had something to say about what Harry disclosed because all of a sudden their chirping became raucous. The tick tack of the clock on the wall was louder now that everyone kept so quiet. They all could hear each other breathe.  

  “I don’t know what to say” Arthur was the first to break the silence. “He is changed. He must have to have fallen in love with Hermione and she with him. We know he has, we all read the statements from the trial. Yet, he had this look in his eyes. That hateful, arrogant stare of his father’s. Still, there is something about him. At some point during our conversation he looked like a man with nothing to live for.” Some pity was heard in his tone as he spoke as if thinking out loud.  “And now this––” 

  Molly had a worried and confused expression on her face as she asked “But why?”

  “Why his behaviour on Friday? Why the beating? Why he’s made it almost impossible to find him?” Harry’s tone was clipped and harsh.

  “So you couldn’t get much information about his whereabouts” Arthur concluded.

  “His mobile was destroyed on the floor, underneath his bed. His house-elves are bound by some really powerful oath not to reveal where they took him nor are they to tell anyone where he lives in Muggle London but I did find out a few other things”  Harry said the last words hesitantly.

   The three present in the cozy kitchen waited expectantly for Harry to continue.

  “I’d rather talk to Hermione first”  He said as  Arthur and Molly exchanged glances and Ginny stared at him wondering.

  “There are a few other details but I need to talk to Ginny before we leave. Hermione is going to call anytime”  He stood up and nodded to Ginny to come with him outside.

    The elder Weasleys looked at each other and they too proceeded to stand and cleared the table as Harry and Ginny made their way out into the backyard.

   Hand in hand they walked towards the end of the yard. Harry stopped and took Ginny in his arms. She in return placed her arms around his waist and waited resting her head on his chest.

  “I told you yesterday we should talk. We don’t have much time but before we go––” A few shorts seconds preceded before he added. “I love you Ginny Weasley, you and you alone. I know I’ve been a lousy boyfriend for the past few years.”

  Ginny lifted her head about to chasten him but Harry silenced her with a quick kiss. “I am too selfish to let you go though. I can’t live without you Ginny.”

  He took both of her hands in his as he continued; his bright green eyes boring into hers. “So I’ve decided that I will do my  best to become the man you deserve, but I need you” He gave her a smile like no other. “See? I told you I am a selfish git” One of his hands caressed one side of her face. “Yesterday Hermione and I  talked. Malfoy is tearing her apart just like I’ve been doing with us. I watched her cried and go to pieces right at my feet and all I could think of is that you might be suffering as much as she is”.

  For a few seconds he bent his head down, looking at their linked fingers while he searched for the right words. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I don’t want to feel the way I do sometimes and I don’t know how to do it or where to start or what to tell you.”

  There was fear and shame in his eyes when he lifted his head up. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. First a touch of the lips. Then an invitation for something more. He complied. Tongues intertwined, caressed each other. His hands roamed her back, descending to her bottom  pushing her against him. Passion. Lust. Raw need. One of his hands took one of her breasts stroking the hard, protruding nipple. The fabric of her shirt did nothing to diminish the heat of his touch. They were drinking each other, desperately. She clung to him as if trying to imprint her body in his, rubbing her lower body on his by now evident erection. Harry opened his eyes. He closed them again and in slow motion disentangled Ginny’s hands from his neck, taking one step backwards but holding her by her shoulders.

  “We can’t, we shouldn’t”  He said. The regret in his voice was unmistakable.

  Ginny was breathless. Her cheeks donned a dark pink flush and Merlin help her she was ecstatic. Harry wanted her! Shamelessly her eyes traveled all the way down to the bulge between his legs. “Why? Harry––you are––I can see you want to”  A mischievous glint in her eyes and an even more playful smile adorned her face. She took him by the waist but he shook his head augmenting the distance between them.

  “No Ginny, we should wait” He said.

   “Wait! But Harry we’ve been going out for three years!” Glad, elated as she was Ginny was beginning to feel slightly annoyed and very much confused.  “We’ve made love before”  She reminded him.

  “For the wrong reasons. It solved nothing and this time––” He was rudely interrupted by a loud curse.

  “This time what!” She said taking a few steps toward him.

  “Ginny, I told you yesterday we need to talk. We haven’t talk for a long time. There are things we need to discuss and making love is just––I want it to be special this time.” He sounded  more sure of himself.

  Ginny was speechless. If  it were possible, steam would come out from her ears. Her fingernails dug themselves in the palm of her hands. She tilted her chin up and the amber in her eyes transformed into liquid fire. Harry braced himself for the onslaught.

  “Are you saying it wasn’t special before?” She hissed.

  “I am saying making love to you now wouldn’t make things better between us because–– Merlin Ginny! Don’t  you remember?”  He asked, waiting a few seconds. He inhaled and rubbed his hand against his hair placing the other inside the front pocket of his pants. He sighed and answered his own question.

  “Making love was great Ginny but eventually that’s all there was between us. I blame myself for it. Things were changing and I didn’t know what to do, how to deal with it and I used sex. I used you. I won’t do it again.”  He looked directly into her eyes, pulling her in, making her go back to those tumultuous months after the war. “You did it too Gin. We stopped talking and somehow making love became our way of coping but––I love you, I love you enough not to make love to you. Not until I figure out what is it that’s hunting me. Please Ginny, try to understand.”

  She unclenched her hands and wiped them against her jeans. Her hair danced  at the rhythm of the gentle wind.  Her features softened some. She walked two, three steps and ever so slowly her fingers tried for the umpteenth time to tame Harry’s indomitable hair. Her hand rested on his face. What was it with this man that she couldn’t walk away from him? Loving him was a curse and a blessing at the same time. Some of her anger resurfaced. Anger at herself  for allowing him to splinter her life into little pieces. Anger at him for being so selfish and at the same time so bloody considerate.

  Her hand dropped. He took it. Ginny stared at their hands. Closing her eyes Ginny commanded her fury and frustration into a weak retreat. Lifting her head up she sized Harry up as she spoke.  “Are you sure about this? About talking, really talking to me? Because I want to believe you Harry”

  “Give me one more chance Ginny. I promise you. I’ll fight it, whatever it is. And this time, if you want to we can do it together ”  He pleaded.

  “Okay, I am all ears and more than willing to help you but know this Harry Potter, I love you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you but it doesn’t mean I won’t be able to walk away. I’m not putting my life on hold anymore.”

  She walked away from him. Her steps were full of conviction and resolve. She walked tall, erect  and if Harry had any doubt she meant what she said, the knot in his stomach and the tightening in his chest confirmed it. She’d walk away from him, he was certain. Harry Potter’s last battle, the one that counted the most was about to begin.


	27. Chapter 27

  
Author's notes:

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**Disclaimer: J K Rowling is the creator and rightful of owner of the Harry Potter books**

**A/N: To _BrandedFaithfully_ , thank you is not enough. Great beta and amazing teacher. **

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**Chapter 27: Friends, But There Is A Catch.**

  John Albus screamed at the top of his lungs. His face was crimson, shining with tears and all Hermione could do was let the tantrum run its course as she’s done many times before, only this time, this morning of all mornings John Albus’s mother was about to do the unthinkable.

  “That’s it!” Lifting him from the floor she placed the little boy on her hip and exited the kitchen with long, angry steps. Startled John Albus’s cries ceased only to start again as his mother all but dropped him on his cot.

  “I’ve had it John Albus! Scream all you want, cry all you want but you are not going to set foot out of this room until this nonsense is done with!”  She slammed the door ignoring the sobs and pleads of her son.

  Following behind her as Hermione made her way to the living room were her parents. She was barely aware of their presence as she paced back and forth, arms at her side, hands opening and closing while her chest heaved in and out rapidly.

  “Hermione––” Candice began to speak.

  “No! I don’t want to hear it! All he want is to play with it. He is not hungry, he wants what he wants and this time I can’t, I just––” Her mother took her in her arms. Hermione stilled. For a minute or more Candice kept her arms around her daughter. Vacillating Candice stepped back although her fingers were holding tight to Hermione’s arms. Her daughter’s breathing had not slowed down but the shaking of her body had subsided.

  From behind the bedroom’s door John called for his mother. Candice’s heart skipped a beat imagining the cherubic face of her grandson disfigured by his distress. Her husband was about to intercede on his grandson’s behalf when the sound of something crashing reached them. In a flash the three of them dashed for Hermione’s bedroom for that is where the ominous sound came from.

   It was not what they expected. Hermione’s dresser was possessed. Its drawers were being pulled in and out mercilessly.  The mirror had cracked. The lights were blinking madly and John Albus’s tiny hands reached for his mother with all his might while his cries were part of the symphony of things flying, banging or being shaken. Both grandparents turned to their daughter. Hermione opened her mouth but no words came out. Now it was the door slamming madly while the walls shook. 

  Terrified she rushed toward John Albus and took him in his arms. “Hush darling, it’s fine love, hush, oh please John Albus listen to mummy!”

   The bell rang. The lamp fixture in the ceiling exploded in little pieces raining down on them. The bell chimed again. “Harry and Ginny are here,” she told her parents. Candice ran. 

  The front door flung wide open and an extremely frightened Candice greeted Harry and Ginny. “You’ve got to help her John Albus––”

  Ginny was the first to run past Candice wand at the ready. Soon after, Harry followed Ginny with Candice right behind him.  It took all but a second to understand what was going on. Ginny sprang into action. With a flick of her wand the door stood still.

  “Hello John Albus, how are you?” Oblivious to the mayhem around her Ginny approached Hermione and John Albus with a bright, wide smile. Her words were cheerful, steady and her eyes fixed on the distressed child. “Uncle Harry and aunt Ginny brought you something, look”  

 Opening her satchel she placed two tiny packages on her hand. Making sure John Albus was paying attention she walked to the bed. “Here, come, let’s see what’s inside.” The minute Hermione let him slide down silence surrounded them. Ginny sat him on her lap, hugging him tenderly. “We better clean your face, what a mess!”  Grabbing the first piece of cloth her hand could reach she wiped the toddler’s face. “There, much better.”

   She cast an inaudible Engorgio spell; John Albus giggled timidly, hiccupping now and then as Molly’s treats regained their original size. Ginny nodded to Hermione to sit beside her son.

   “Mummy” said John Albus, leaping to Hermione’s lap all smiles. “Look”

   “I see” She hugged her son giving Ginny a grateful gaze.

   “Why don’t you go to the kitchen while Harry and I take care of this.”  Said Ginny glancing around.

   As soon as they were left alone Harry let out a big sigh. There was awe and wander in his green gaze as he took in the semi-destruction in the bedroom. “He’s not even two years old! Sweet Merlin Ginny!” He sounded scared, confused.

   Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “Temper, temper, temper.” She shook her head. “He most have inherited it from his father.” Pointing her wand at the dresser she proceeded to bring Hermione’s room to its previous immaculate state. Harry helped her mechanically, digesting what he witnessed.

  “What made him do this? Are all magical children capable of this? Were you? I don’t remember reacting like this with the Dursleys”  The answer was given by Hermione’s dad.

  “He wanted more cereal but not because he was hungry. My grandson wanted to play with his breakfast, throwing it all over the kitchen floor. Hermione refused to give him more, he shed a few tears, his mother ignored him as she usually does. Only difference is that my daughter lost her temper and the rest is history. Regarding your other inquiries I’m as baffled as you are. More than you can  possibly imagine since I know nothing about magical children other than my own. Hermione was a late bloomer and the most pleasant child you’d ever met.” John Granger glanced around him impressed. There were no signs that a little hurricane named John Albus had passed by.

   He extended his hand. “John Granger, welcome to our home, Harry is it?”

   A faint blush permeated Harry’s features. “Harry Potter sir. Nice to see you again sir.”

  “Right, we’ve met before, briefly. Doesn’t mean I don’t know a lot about you. There were two constants in her letters home: you and Ron.”  Taking a last look around he strolled out the room. “Hermione is in the kitchen. I believe some of what you’ve seen has a lot to do with whatever happened at your place. Hermione has never lost her temper with her son,” he said in a reproachful tone.

  Ginny and Harry exchanged glances. Obviously Hermione’s parents were ignorant of Hermione’s trip to The Manor or the reason for it. Harry made his way to the kitchen at a slow pace. John Albus’s behaviour was something to ponder about. On the other hand, Hermione was waiting for his report as she put it and he wasn’t sure yet, how much to tell her. And if she didn’t tell her parents about yesterday’s events then, what was he supposed to do or say?

  “Harry?” Ginny whispered retracing her steps back to her boyfriend. “What’s wrong?”

  “I meant to tell you, about what I found out and now it’s too late.”  He answered softly, afraid he could be heard while glancing wearily to the end of the little passage leading to the kitchen. “I don’t know if I should tell Hermione. I don’t know for certain if what I think is true. Bugger! I should have woke you up!” His hand swept mechanically through his hair.

  Ginny gazed at Harry giving him the ‘I told you so’ look. She stood still for a few seconds, thinking. “She’ll kill us if she finds out we lied to her. Then again, right now may not be the right time to drop any bombshells.” She paused again brushing imaginary threads of her hair behind her ears. “If she doesn’t ask don’t tell her, you know what I mean? Do you know for certain what you found out is true?

  “I’m ninety nine percent certain it is.” Answered Harry. 

  “Then just tell her the facts, nothing else. Answer her questions, don’t elaborate.  Let’s go in. We’ll figure it out as we go.” Ginny said encouragingly

  She took his hand and walked the few steps which separated them from the kitchen putting on a radiant smile as they went in.

   John Albus play contentedly on the floor. Candice as it was her custom leaned on the kitchen counter giving her back to the window while drinking another cup of tea while her husband sat beside their daughter at the small table. Hermione’s features were symptomatic of the emotional roller coaster she’d been going through. Her teeth were gnawing at her bottom lip mercilessly and her hands, clasped together showed blue finger tips, so tight was her hold on them. Her head hung, avoiding looking at those present in the cozy room.

   Standing at the doorway, Harry’s guilt came to the forefront, again. This wasn’t a normal gathering of friends. Ignoring the past three years would be a great disservice to Hermione. Should he say something to that effect? He chose to turn a blind eye to Ron’s act of revenge. He watched Hermione humiliate herself countless times to save their friendship and what was his response? Nothing. He demonstrated more compassion towards a traitor and a coward like Draco Malfoy than he did to the woman who just a few days back forgot all about his betrayal and saved his life once again. He squeezed Ginny’s hand. Ginny turned her head towards him. Harry did the same. She had an idea of what was going through his mind and the effect it was having on him. Guilt was one of Harry’s greatest foes. One which had such a hold on him, it took precedence over everything else. Ginny leaned on Harry, her gaze locked into his remorseful orbs. Caressing the inside of his hand tenderly without thinking she gave Harry a light kiss on his lips. It all took but a couple of seconds, long enough for the gesture to register with Candice and John who exchanged glances.

  “The room looks fine now.” Ginny’s voice interrupted everyone's thoughts.  The two older adults looked at Ginny who tugged at Harry’s hand as they entered the kitchen. The sun’s timid attempts to shine were apparent in the veiled brightness in the room coming through the one and only curtained window facing the backyard. Pulling himself up John offered his seat to Ginny and with a gesture of his head invited Harry to take the one facing Hermione. Hermione in return managed to lift her head up staring at both her friends. John and Candice stood side by side leaning on the kitchen counter waiting. Both were aware something was amiss with their daughter the minute she stepped into the house a few minutes past midnight after her visit to the Weasleys.  What went on at the Weasley’s? Did it have to do with Draco? Something else? Were Harry and Ginny involved?

    Hermione glanced wearily at her parents. John walked behind her and sat on the empty chair on her left and pried one of her hands free, taking in tenderly between his. John Albus played peacefully with his toys under table, a habit he acquired since his crawling days. 

    “I guess I have to tell you first, don’t I Dad?” Hermione’s embarrassment was evident. 

  John heard the hesitation in her voice. “Not if you don’t want to” He said tenderly but not without some hurt in his voice. 

  “I promised you,” she turned to her mum, “both of you that from now on I’d never hide anything from you. It’s just that I can’t help but feel like all I’ve done since Australia is disappoint you. Because of me––.” Her voice faltered.

  Candice rushed to her. Her chest collided with Hermione’s shoulders. Hermione found herself with her mother’s arms around her. Candice’s hands laced together above Hermione’s upper body. “Never have we been more proud of you. What you went through! Your generosity, your strength, Oh Hermione, my sweet, sweet girl!” Candice kissed one side of her face repeatedly. “Please, Hermione you’ve got to let us help you, please darling!”

   John placed the hand holding Hermione’s on top of his wife’s. “Anything you need, anything you want, Mum and I will do our best. No matter what.”  He offered.

  Ginny stood up offering her chair to Candice who sat on it without disengaging her hold on Hermione’s hands. Ginny took Candice’s spot at the kitchen counter.

  Silence reigned unchallenged for a few more seconds, until John Albus came from under the table running out of the kitchen making his growling sounds.

  “I went to The Manor yesterday night.” She gave her parents a brief version of what she learned about Draco. Candice and John were about to open their mouths but Hermione moved on to Harry.

  “It’s your turn Harry. Did you learn anything new?” she asked eagerly.

  Harry’s eyes avoided Hermione’s. He twisted nervously on his seat. “Malfoy made very clear to the house elves he doesn’t want anyone to know where he is.”

  “I know that Harry!”  Hermione snapped.

   Harry flinched a little. All eyes were on him. His hands found themselves instinctively. Rubbing his fingers against each other his discomfort made very clear to all present but Hermione who humph and puffed impatiently. Ginny abandoned her spot at the counter placing herself at Harry’s left side. The reassuring pressure of her fingers on Harry’s left shoulder slowed some of his fast beating heart.

  “Well it wasn’t as easy as you think. For starters the house- elves didn’t know about Lucius Malfoy’s death or that Narcissa is in Azkaban,” Harry said and as expected Hermione gave him the _‘I don’t believe it’_ look. “Malfoy never told them, truth be told the Ministry didn’t either. In fact when Malfoy left Azkaban he summoned Casper outside of Malfoy Manor. I guess that’s why the alarms didn’t go off.  Friday night was the first time since his release that Malfoy had been inside his home.” He was talking fast avoiding Hermione’s gaze. 

  “But The Manor was vandalized. Ministry officials must have come dozens of times to gather evidence against Draco and his mother. Are you telling me the house-elves weren’t a bit curious? People coming in and out, turning The Manor upside down and those poor creatures did or say nothing?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “The only house-elves available were Casper and Tykir,” he said.

  “The ones that side-Apparated Draco and I to Hogsmeade,” Hermione said and then asked, “how many are there?”

   “Six more. Like I said before the rest had been hiding until yesterday,” he answered. 

  “That’s all! Eight house-elves! That’s––” Her words faded into thin air. “Hiding?”  

  “Mr. Weasley told me this morning that only Tykir and Casper were at The Manor when the Ministry took over it. No signs of the others. Casper and Tykir were not great help either. The Aurors never heard of or were told by Casper that there were more. Chances are the Malfoys ordered them to hide. I don’t think that’s relevant anyway. Malfoy and his mother ended up in Azkaban and Lucius died at the hands of his own people. I’d say justice was served.” The resentment was obvious in Harry’s voice.

  Hermione’s features took an austere look. Harry was feeling too self-conscious, sitting as he was facing not only Hermione but her parents, to notice her reaction to his words. Once again, quiet ensued. Hermione’s gaze drifted beyond the confinement of the kitchen. One of her fingers twirled a few strands of her hair while her bottom lip was pulled gently be her teeth. Coming out of her thoughts she returned her inquisitive chocolate eyes to Harry.

  “Why come out of hiding now?” she asked

  “Once I told Casper about the fate of his master. Out of nowhere they all came, that’s when I––” Harry cursed inwardly.

  “You what Harry?” Hermione’s underlying tone meant, _‘don’t lie to me Harry or else’_

“I used Legilimency,” he said.

 Candice and John looked at each other wondering what that meant. Ginny’s questioning gaze turned to Harry and Hermione’s lips curved upward. “You **tried** to used Legilimency and?” Her mocking tone was not lost to those present.

  Harry was relieved. If Hermione could joke in spite of it all then maybe he needn’t worry about her so much. Then again, what he discovered those few moments he managed to invade Casper’s memories would certainly pained her deeply.

  “I think there was a woman involved in Malfoy’s beating, but I’m not sure,” he blurted darting his eyes from John to Candice as if warning them about what was to come. John inclined his head. Ginny moved closer to Harry and he lifted his left hand to take hold of the one Ginny had resting on his shoulder.

  Hermione said nothing hiding her emotions very well. Her eyes were fixed on Harry who decided to go on. “Casper hid behind a few boxes after he Apparated until he realized what was happening. Malfoy was on the floor. There were at least three men beating him, kicking him. The fourth was holding a woman. She was screaming, crying, begging them to stop. One of them, don’t know who was shouting at her.”

  Harry paused no longer than a second but Hermione was already speaking. “Harry, I want to know everything. You understand? Everything,” she warned him. The tension in the room was felt by all. “Every word, every gesture, everything you saw and heard.”

   “I am not good at Legilimency or Occlumency Hermione you know that,” Harry said trying to delay the inevitable.

  “I’m warning you Harry.” Hermione gritted her teeth. “What was that woman saying?”

  “She insisted that Malfoy didn’t know.” Was Harry’s answer. To the point just as Ginny suggested.

  Exasperated Hermione asked, “What didn’t Draco know?”

 “I don’t know Hermione, what I saw lasted a few minutes maybe less. The images were all mixed up. One second it was the Malfoys at some ball or something, other it was Lucius in a rage. Casper just learned of his master’s death. It was difficult to concentrate while eight house-elves were going batty all around me.” Harry sounded defensive.

  For a few seconds Harry found Hermione’s gaze dissecting every millimetre of his face, zeroing in his eyes. “Fine. Did you manage to hear what the men were saying?”

  Harry swallowed. His chest rose and deflated in slow motion. Resigned he said, “One of them said something about Malfoy sleeping with the wrong girl. The other mentioned something about Malfoy having been warned the other day.”

  “I understand,” said Hermione without one iota of emotion. Taking a deep breath she rose. “I’ll put some clothes in the washer and then I’ll take John Albus to the water park, care to come with us?”  she asked Ginny and Harry. Rather than waiting for an answer Hermione cleared the table and deposited the dirty cups in the sink leaving the kitchen.

  Ginny was about to follow her. “Let her be Ginny,” said John softly.

  “I could kill him!” Candice said getting up abruptly venting her rage with the cups, smashing one against the sink. “The nerve of that man! Lying, cheating bastard!” Pivoting on her heels she addressed her husband. “He threatened them John,” she said apprehensively.

  John got up and took his wife in his arms. “We will deal with it when the time comes.” Same words Hermione used when she came back from Hogsmeade. “We need to know more though.”

   Turning around with one arm around Candice’s waist John directed his questioning eyes to Harry and Ginny. The young man, the boy Draco referred to as the Boy Who Lived and Defeated the Dark Lord, fidgeted nervously with his hands casting his gaze down to the table. John noticed that Harry’s haunted eyes were similar to Draco’s. No light in them, like a black hole giving the appearance of hollowness and yet filled with soul deep suffering and memories not unlike those of Hermione’s. Although Harry Potter carried with him much more than the trauma of war but the wounds of an abused, tortured child at the hands of his own flesh and blood. Harry’s and Draco’s shoulders slumped forward as if carrying a heavy load, although Draco did a better job at projecting with his body the façade of a man in charge, sure of himself. For a second John wondered about Ron Weasley and he glanced at Ginny. Ron conspicious absence puzzled John. Recollecting Hermione’s tale of the battle of Hogwarts his thoughts drifted to Ginny’s parents. The Weasleys had buried a son. He couldn’t fathom their sorrow.

  John took a seat, right in front of Harry and invited his wife to do the same. Candice sat on his left. Ginny didn’t wait for an invitation and lowered herself to the only empty seat at Harry’s left side.  Harry lifted his head up focusing on his girlfriend’s face. Ginny features softened, her eyes smiled softly. It was all Harry needed at the moment.

  “You are sure of what you heard Harry?”  John asked.

   “I wish I didn’t sir but I am.”  Harry let out a quiet self-deprecating laugh. “I’m absolutely horrid at Legilimency. I can’t believe I actually managed to invade someone’s memories that easily!”

  “You said those memories were all mixed up. Could it be––” Harry shook his head.

  “No sir. Those were Muggles in that backalley and that was Malfoy on the floor wearing Muggles clothes on Friday night. And those were the exact words Casper heard,” he replied.

  “That’s not what you said to Hermione,” John teased him.

  “I was trying––,”  John finished the sentence for Harry. 

  “You were trying to soften the blow. There is no way to make a painful truth less painful,” he lamented.

  “And now what? Pretend like Hermione that nothing’s happened?” Candice was standing now. Her hands resting on the back of the chair. Speaking softly, aware that Hermione was close by. Her anger and anguish displayed all over her face. All of it directed at Harry and Ginny. “She was doing well before. She has a job she enjoys, her son, us. She finally can sleep through the night! You have any idea what she went through! She almost die from grief! Were it not for John Albus––”

   Unable to face them any longer Candice stood up and made her way to the sink where she found refuge looking out the window. Her voice reached them much like the light coming through, soft but fully charged of heat. “I wished we had never returned!” 

  “And not face the truth just like our daughter is doing now?”  John chastised his wife. 

   Harry listened and shrunk in his chair. Maybe Hermione’s mum was right. They had no business interfering, attempting to restored what once was. Hermione found  peace away from them. No, it wasn’t true, he knew better. The Hermione falling apart at his feet  hadn’t made peace with what transpired years ago. Harry was beginning to understand. It was a thin, fragile truce more like an impasse which disguised itself as the ever eluding peace they all had gone after. Neither he nor Hermione had found peace nor were they content with their fate. Peace without being able to smile, to get up in the morning knowing one’s life is worth living. To belong, to be loved. It wasn’t peace. What they’d done was give up.

  John intruded Harry’s thoughts. “It was Hermione who insisted we should come back home. We were against it but she refused. I guess she hoped one day she’d have a reason to come back to you and magic. My daughter is not a quitter or a coward. I think these years away from you gave her the strength to face this last hurdle.”

  He rotated his body and faced his wife. “She wasn’t doing well Candy and you know it. She was going through the motions; sleeping, eating, working, taking care of her son but that’s all there was. She’s being consumed from the inside by what’s missing from her life. No friends to speak of, no outside interests other than John Albus and the shop, no laughter.” 

  He turned again to face Harry and Ginny. “Months ago I’d have been reluctant to have you back in her life. You harmed her more than you’d imagined. Something inside her died when she left your world. She has been living with ‘what ifs’ and ‘whys’ all these years; afraid to willingly expose herself, to go back and get the answers to those questions. Being away was the best medicine for her at that time, a recharging of batteries so to speak. Ever since you found her, something has awoken in Hermione. I’ve seen her eyes shine with anticipation because she was going to the fair with her friend. She loves and admires you Harry. Your family, Ginny, holds a very special place in her heart. Up until a few weeks ago, my daughter’s life was half of a whole. I don’t know what exactly will it take for Hermione to be complete again but one thing I’m certain of is that she needs, she must find the answers to her questions for that to happen.”

  “You are saying having her life disrupted like this is good for her? Are you willing to risk her mental health? How many more sleepless nights, nightmares, bouts of depression does she have to go through to find those bloody answers?” Candice asked annoyed.

  “I’m saying our daughter is ready to find her own path. Be it here with us Muggles or back in the magical world. And yes, I believe she has to face her past, otherwise Candy, how can she move forward?” Candice shook her head. Her features were a cocktail of conflicting emotions: anger, anguish, confusion, fear. Words eluded her.

   Harry took in a deep breath, straightened up, squared his shoulders and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I know you have no reason to believe anything I say. I don’t have the right to be here. I wasn’t there when Hermione needed me the most. I don’t think I’ve ever been there for her. I owe her my life a thousand times over. I don’t deserve her forgiveness and I don’t expect yours. I won’t give you any excuses or empty explanations.” Harry paused for a brief moment to cast a glance at Ginny who in return slid her chair closer to Harry taking his hand in hers. An act meant to include her in Harry’s apology. 

  “Hermione isn’t the only one I turned my back on.” For the first time Harry allowed his gaze to meet John’s and Candice’s. He hesitated internally with what he was going to say next but the decision was made for him when he stole a glance at Candice’s afflicted and despairing eyes. He’d seen the same expression on Molly’s face. “We talked yesterday. I told her about what it  had been like for me. I couldn’t believe it but she’d gone through most of what I’ve gone through!  She loves Malfoy and as much as I–– despise him and trust him even less I must accept it.” The disagreeably acrid taste those last four words left in his mouth was reflected in his strained features and darkening of his eyes. He might accept Draco in Hermione’s life, in fact he had no choice. Standing by while Draco Malfoy threatened and caused Hermione pain, that was different.

  “She is afraid and angry, those were her words.” He continued.  “She may say she wants nothing to do with magic, she may call herself all sort of awful names but I know Hermione. She’s the most talented, unselfish, smart witch I’ve ever met. She loves magic.”

   “I want her whole like you do. You said she has questions.” Harry’s face lit up. “Hermione can’t stand not knowing the answer to any question. You are afraid for her well being. If you’d had seen her yesterday you wouldn’t feel that way. She casted three spells one after the other. Three years without practicing magic and Hermione had Bill at her mercy in seconds!”  Harry’s enthusiasm was almost contagious. “It was like she never left,” he said longingly.

   He dropped his gaze. His face reddened. Harry wasn’t the type of man to go on lengthy discourses. But after listening to Hermione’s parents he felt compelled to acknowledge not only the part he played in what Hermione had endured because of his cowardly actions but of his resolve to bring back Hermione to the wizarding world and claim her place as the heroine she truly was because without her undying friendship and commitment to his success he would have succumbed to despair and eventually given up the fight. 

  “She used magic.”  Candice sounded defeated. 

  “My brother was teaching John Albus to fly, just a metre or so above the ground.” Ginny clarified. Candice glared at her. “Bill you should have known better.” 

  John was deep in thought before he broke the silence. It seemed they all were waiting for him to speak.  “I guess we agreed in one thing. We want what is best for my daughter.” Candice let out a snort which John ignored. He would deal with his wife later. “What’s best for her, not for you Harry or for us, for her.” The menacing tone Ginny was familiar with painted every word John Granger uttered. “We’ll follow her lead. We won’t push her, make any demands, and  most importantly there’ll be no lying and no judgement. No rash actions without Hermione’s knowledge. Is that understood?”

   “You promised us you’d protect her from that man” Candice interjected, reminding Ginny of the conversation the day before.

  “Candice!” John’s tone held some vexation as he turned to his wife. 

  Candice didn’t recoil at her husband’s words. She untied her hair and in sharp, angry movements she reconstructed her ponytail as she made her position in the matter stubbornly clear to her husband and their two visitors.  “I am her mother John, she is my only child! I don’t care how you do it.” She addressed Harry and Ginny. “You promised you won’t hurt her again and that you’d protect her from that monster. It’s the least you can do and you will do it! You’re obligated to her!” Glaring at her husband, Candice stomped out of the kitchen, castigating the floor as she exited the house through the front door.

   Both wizard and witch looked at each other, no sure of what to do or say. John gaze followed the path his wife had taken and he let out a small sigh. He got up. Harry imitated him.

  “You have an ally but don’t let it go to your head.”  John was leaning against the counter. The palms of his hands resting beside him on the edge. His handsome features relaxed. The twinkle in his eyes at odds with what had transpired. How strange that the glint in John’s eyes would remind Harry of Dumbledore. Strange and scary.

   “Tread carefully you two.” John’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “I wouldn’t want to be at the end of Hermione’s wand if she finds out you went after Draco behind her back” He pivoted on his feet, turned the faucet on. “Mind you, she needs to find her wand first. I believe her stuff is in the attic, or maybe in storage. I don’t remember” Whistling he doused a bit soap in the sponge and carried on washing the dirty dishes.

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   The muffled sound of their voices reached her now and then as she sorted the dirty clothes. Her movements were restrained reminding her that her frustration and anger had better wait for the right outlet. They have misconstrued her departure from the kitchen as avoiding not only the truth of what Harry said but her breaking down in despairing tears. Nothing could’ve been  farther from the truth. In a way she felt relieved. Months ago she would have drown in tears and desperation. No tears this time. Gloom and weakness were absent. Oh yes! Draco Malfoy had no idea what was coming to him. Because, she’ll find him. She’ll confront him and the bastard better be prepared because this time Hermione Granger wouldn’t allow anyone, not even the man she so desperately loved, to walk all over her ever again. Now, if she could only remember where that bloody wand was!


	28. Chapter 28

**_ Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns is the rightful owner and creator of the Harry Potter books.**

**A/N: Here it is, the anticipated visit to Azkaban. My daughter helped editing the chapter, thanks reina mora!**

**Elena**

 

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**Chapter 28: An Act Of Equilibrium.**

   It was a good thing Nick wasn’t the kind of man prone to pessimism. Were it not the case, the attitude of the blond, troubled young man leaning against the lone tree at the back of his home’s backyard, would have provoked all sorts of negative vibes within him. As Nick predicted, the door had been shut abruptly in his face.  He expected it, banking on Maggie’s boundless patience and well-intentioned manipulative tactics to at least open a window. Draco Malfoy was at the end of his tether. A more accurate image would be of a person attempting to reach the other side of a bottomless precipice walking on a tight, thin rope. A wave of high winds, a distraction, the most subtle hesitation triggered by doubt and fear and Draco would lose his balance and fall into the bottomless abysm. 

   How his Maggie had persuaded Draco to spend the night in the ‘office’ was beyond Nick’s understanding. Sometimes his wife astonished him. What was it about her? He’d witnessed the whole thing and by the life of him he still had no idea what exactly had happened! He’d done his part, at least for the time being. Draco’s past wasn’t an enigma anymore. He doubted Draco would let his guard down again.

   “He’s been out there since before the sun came out,” announced Maggie as she placed a plate of toasts and another with scrambled eggs at the centre of the tiny table. Glancing at the open back door she sat and brought her mug to her lips. She was facing her husband, not really looking at him.

  Her almost auburn hair was hidden under a whimsically coloured bandana. Nick could see a few tendrils peaking out, curling at her slender neck and falling into her eyes, his daughters’s eyes, shining with the determination Mrs. Aisling was known for. Finally her attention turned to her husband. She smiled. Nick was staring at her as if he caught her red handed stealing sweets she wasn’t supposed to indulge in.

  “What?”  She asked.

   “I almost feel sorry for the poor guy. Just be careful. He is,” Nick brought his thumb and index finger two or three millimetres from each other, “this close to run again.”

  “He is here. It means we can catch him before he does.”  She sounded eager to engage Draco.

  “If he goes to visit his mother, he may not come back. We may never see him again. There is more to that part of his life than he let on,” he warned his wife.

  “Maybe.” Holding her mug under her chin, Maggie glanced back at the open door. “He is a proud boy. But pride can only get you so far. He won’t admit how lonely and lost he is. There is so much pain in him––” Those bewitching amber orbs of hers transformed themselves into liquid honey as a few tears gathered.

  Moved by his wife’s concern, he sat beside her, facing the back door. Maggie leaned her head on his shoulders as Nick embraced her. “Have you noticed how he looked at us during supper?”    

  Nick kissed her brow. “Mmmhm.”

  “It’s all new to him. I’ve seen it in the other boys. They know nothing about what a real, caring family looks like. The first time he had supper with us he ate so fast I thought he hadn’t eaten in days which might’ve very well been the case, but–– he excused himself just as quickly and left, well, he almost ran.” Nick could feel the small smile creeping in her face. “I don’t blame him. We tend to be a loud lot. The second time he managed to take a peek now and then at us, rather than staring at his plate. He even played football with the girls! And yesterday––” Maggie turned her head to Nick. “He was different. Didn’t you notice? He stuck his tongue at Suzy after we scolded her. For a minute there he behaved like a big, annoying older brother. Wasn’t it amazing?”

    The twinkle in her eyes, the way her face lit up,  the fact that she could find hope in something as trivial as a child-like gesture at the dinner table, the way she welcomed Draco, like a lost, now found son, her unwavering faith in humanity; all of it caused Nick’s heart to swell to mammoth proportions.  Nick couldn’t help himself and kissed her. Maggie didn’t object and returned the gesture wholeheartedly. As Nick ceased ravishing her mouth, Maggie let out a soft whimper. “Mmmhm, that was quite a kiss Mr. Aisling. Not that I’m complaining but what did I do to deserve it?”

   “I love you, I just love you.”

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   It felt like an iron fist had punched him in the chest. He was left breathless and torn up as his eyes looked on Nick’s and Maggie’s kiss. The phrase which had become his mantra echoed  in his brain _‘It’s going to work out, you’ll see’_ Would it? He was on the outside, looking in. It was a mirage. Wishful thinking.  Was there a chance, even a slim one, for Hermione and him? How had it all gone so wrong in such a short time?  

    Maggie Aisling disagreed, of course. It was all very simple. He was to tell Hermione the truth and ask for forgiveness for everything. _‘And you know what everything means Draco,’_ said Mrs. Aisling, locking her knowing eyes on him. A gesture which stirred a weird feeling in Draco by the way. Hermione might forgive Draco, but trust him? She was human after all. Trust, once breached, required an awful lot of effort to rebuild. Guess what. It was up to Draco to start the rebuilding process. Not only that: they had a son. He had a responsibility and if Hermione was to trust and forgive him, John Albus should be Draco’s priority regardless of this little hiccup in his relationship with his son’s mother. 

  That was in nutshell what Maggie said the night before, disregarding his obvious discomfort and annoyance at her intrusion. He listened but said nothing. Not with words. He tried to look bored and dismissive but Mrs. Aisling either had some sort of problem with her eyesight or she was one of the most stubborn Muggles he had ever encountered. Would Maggie’s optimism be the same if she had all the facts about him?  Hermione and him were magical people. That in itself was dramatic enough. Hermione was instrumental in the downfall of one, if not _the_ , most evil of all wizards known to men, saving the magical world of certain doom. This, in turn, transformed her and her two other sidekicks one of which was The Boy Who Lived, Harry James Potter: The Boy Who Kicked Voldemort’s Ass Into Oblivion, into The Golden Trio. History would remember those two idiots and Hermione as nothing short of the best thing that ever happen since–– well, since forever.

  Draco Malfoy on the other hand . . . Assuming the Aislings didn’t die in a fit of laughter or commit him to the loony ward in some Muggle hospital. If he were to reveal that he was a wizard and if they did accept the truth about him then the question would be, how would they feel about a traitor, a bigot and a coward? They thought they knew about his not so exemplary past and had been very supportive and encouraging. If they learned about his family’s history they’d be horrified and disgusted.

  Still, the few facts they learned about him and his mother changed nothing in the Aislings behaviour toward him.  It was a surreal experience. There he was, pondering about his pitiful life and not once had he had fallen prey to those images nor did his body reacted as it usually did It was perplexing when, only a few hours ago, the very thought of his mother would’ve had produced a massive panic attack. He had no other phrase for it. Something foreign and terrifying would take hold of his body and his mind. Sometimes it felt like he had an out of body experience. He knew it was him running, babbling like an idiot, shivering, controlled and manipulated by rage and terror.  Until yesterday.  He looked around and sighed. The little Muggle house, this tiny piece of land had the attributes of an oasis. As if some magical wards kept at bay whatever it was that tormented him, depriving Draco of the control of his emotions. Why? What was it about the Aislings that made him feel –– he had no name for it. 

 Draco shook his head and headed for the small room in the shed. He dreaded and anticipated his visit to Azkaban. He didn’t know what to expect and even less what he would say to his mother. All he was sure of was that the time had come. Narcissa Malfoy deserved better from her one and only son. Nick said Draco needed to sort himself out. Whatever that meant, wherever it would take him, it was in Azkaban where he should start.

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   Looking at it as a free man might have lessened his apprehension or the tightening in his chest, regrettably it had the opposite effect. Azkaban’s grey and deformed silhouette rose from the depths of the ocean like a diabolic claw. The ever-present dark skies, the persistent rain and thundering surrounding it ensured its residents lived in perpetual despair. To never see the sun again or a bright blue sky. To be deprived of the colours and sounds of spring or the long, bright days of summer. To feel cold and damp always. To forget the sonance of your own voice, anyone’s voice. It was hell and Draco had but a taste of it while his mother –– what had Azkaban done to her?  What could he say, do? Would she even want to see him?

    The rain was more vicious now, pelting his face. Thunder and lightning danced frantically in tandem while Azkaban rose from the depths of the sea to greet him.  The young wizard noticed he wasn’t alone. He realized two more small boats had accompanied him from ashore. He ignored them.  His hooded face tilted up almost like an act of defiance, disregarding the thumping in his chest and the cold sweat mingling with the heavy rain drops rolling down his bone white face.

  The boats stopped. The small beach was no wider than Nick’s backyard. Without a word, the small party of three travelled behind the one and only person waiting for them at the foot of a very long set of steps. Whoever he was he had an imposing presence and a more impressive size. The procession of four made its way up the treacherous path. Contrary to Draco’s expectations, not more than twenty metres into their trek they were directed to a cave like entrance.  It was cold and damp and Draco swallowed dry. The sound of drops of water meeting the petrous path mingled with those of their footsteps. No other sound reached his ears. Panic ensued. His hands fisted at his side. He was sweating copiously. Draco inhaled as if breathing was new to him. His lungs retracted and expanded painfully, demanding air and when Draco yielded; it was a frantic, out of control motion. He was suffocating. The jagged, disfigured walls were closing in on him and when the illusion retreated for a few seconds, Draco could have sworn Dementors slithered on them. As his chest jutted in and out he felt pain and the warmth of blood in the palms of his hands; it stilled him. He lifted his hands, palms up, fingers wide. A string of light coming from the far end of the path covered his bloodied limbs. He was alone, the others had crossed the threshold of the entrance to the prison up ahead. The muscles in his face wiggled and squirmed, smoothing his features. Draco lifted his head up and continued walking, the sting and warmth in his hands the fuel needed to continue his walk. The yellow light a beacon.

  Blood. He never spilled his own willingly, but Narcissa Malfoy did. For him. Hermione did it. For all. The thread of light was wider. The end of the tunnel was in sight. His fingers made their way back into his wounds, deepening them. He had come to Azkaban to stand in front of his mother and ask for forgiveness, cognizant of the hold Azkaban had on him, his contemptible self. The light grew bigger, brighter. Almost there. His hands relaxed. His arms hung by his side. Blood, life-giving blood inched down his fingers, splashing soundlessly on the ground, marking his steps. He walked into the lighted room and Draco looked back to the shapeless, darkened passage, wiping his hands on his worn out robe. Rock, slime and cold. That’s all it was. A path. He walked through it, he spilled his blood on it. He rake his hands over his saturated blond strands and glanced back at the tunnel, he couldn’t see the entrance but it was there. Nothing would stop him from walking back out because he was a free man. That much was clear to him. Azkaban had extracted its pound of flesh and rightly so. As if a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders, Draco straightened his back, flexed his muscles much like the way he used to do before a Quidditch match. He felt–– well, he felt something, he just didn’t know what it was and then it happened, out of nowhere, one small picture materialized itself and Draco Malfoy’s lips did the most amazing thing: they produced a grin as he recollected Suzy Aisling sticking her tongue out to him.

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   It was obvious that visitors to Azkaban were not a normal occurrence nor were they a source of great security concerns. The same wizard who escorted them from the beach was sitting at a table, on the one and only chair in the perfectly squared, tiny reception area, illuminated by two floating candles at either side of a door. The only door.  Draco’s two companions stood by said door, waiting. The guard extended his right hand without bothering to look up. Draco produced the parchment as well as his wand, glancing back at the two men who bestowed him an impatient glare. Apparently Draco had delayed them.

  Draco examined the room more closely. Before him and slightly to the left was  the steeled, rusty door. The table to Draco’s right, beside the door and above it a faded ‘Reception’ sign. No windows. The mustard coloured, plastered walls had stained patches here and there.  One of the corners, the one on Draco’s left revealed water damaged bricks. From the opposite corner, water flowed in a tiny stream, sipping through the cobbled ground. He turned his head and glanced behind him. He saw the black passage, no light whatsoever at the end. His gaze wandered above him. The ceiling was low, grey and in terrible need of repair. It had a hole, right above where the guard was sitting. In fact, the wooden floors up above were perfectly visible.

  “Malfoy,” the man said with disgust, his raspy voice booming in the small enclosure. “Thought you was dead,” he said dryly, gifting Draco with a disgusted gaze. “I guess one can only hope.”

   Draco said nothing, holding the man’s gaze. The guard was a few years older than Draco. Bulky, tall and if one were to go by the size of his hands and arms and the span of his chest, it’d be in one’s best interest not to provoke him. The insignia on his robe was that of a lower ranking officer in the small army of Aurors in charge of the prison. Stepping from behind the table, the guard opened the door, signalling with a nod to the visitors to follow him. Standing in the middle of the hallway, he extended his arm and pointed to a set of doors on his left.

  “The second on the left,” he said. The three men proceeded to walk but the guard grabbed Draco by the arm. “You, Mr. Malfoy, have to wait over there.” The guard pointed at a door at the end of the hallway but opposite to where the other two visitors had gone. “You’ve been granted a private room. I’ll give you back the parchment before you leave, I’d like to double check something.” Glaring at Draco, the guard left the blond wizard standing by himself, wondering.

  He took two faltering steps and stopped. His right hand traced his face much like a blind person would. His swollen, bruised face had disappeared under the grooming charm he casted on himself. His lips parted and he exhaled as his eyes zeroed in on the door, less than ten metres away. Five more steps. Draco halted. He inhaled a deep angry breath. His mother had waited long enough. His footfall was determined as he made his way to the door, turned the knob to the right and went in.

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  Draco walked into an empty chamber. His heart sank at his feet. Dejected he leaned on the doorway unaware of the guard entering through another opening.

   “The prisoner has been summoned. Sit here.”  Draco snapped to attention. Wand in hand, the stout, aged and fierce looking guard dragged two chairs toward a table which was not there before. “You’ll have twenty minutes.” The old wizard left.

  Arms at his sides, back upright Draco waited as a soldier facing a firing squad. Bile rose to his throat. He thought his heart had stopped beating. The door swung quietly, the contours of a small silhouette appeared. Timidly, Narcissa Malfoy came under the yellowed, dimmed glow of the two candles posted on either side of the chamber. Narcissa’s hands were clasped at the front and her grey, shapeless dress hung loosely on her body. Lifting her head up she scanned the premises wearily and when her gaze landed on Draco, she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand and shaking her head from side to side. Tears streamed down her white as chalk features.

  “No, no, no please, not this” She begged. “I can’t, please, stop it! Stop it!” She screamed covering her face.

   Draco rushed to her but she raised her hands. “He is dead. He is not here. No, no, I won’t––”

  “Mother,” Draco took her hands in his. Narcissa closed her eyes shaking her face, fighting Draco’s attempt to pry her hands away from her face.

 She opened her eyes.

   “Mother,” Draco’s voice faltered. Narcissa’s legs gave in forcing Draco to hold on to her slumping body. Thankfully a chair was close by and gently he sat her on it, kneeling before her.

  His fingers were on hers and with great difficulty, Draco placed her hands on his face. Narcissa pulled back, hauling the chair along. Gently, quietly, struggling against the lump in his throat, Draco guided her hands over his face, running their intertwined fingers through his hair. “It’s me, Mother. You can touch me, you can look at me.” His words were carefully enunciated, almost a whisper caressing her.

   Her fingers started moving on their own volition as her face came up to Draco’s. Her lacklustre blue eyes searched, prodded the features of the man kneeling at her side, while her hands dared to frame his face on them. Draco returned the favour by sliding his thumbs on her cheeks, erasing the trail of her tears. Her body jerked slightly, but her examination continued. Draco’s eyes locked on hers, hiding nothing. Her sunken features wilted even more and the saddest expression mantled her whole face.

  “Is it really you?” And again, it sounded as if she was in a dream, not daring to hope but willing to go along with the deception.

  Draco couldn’t look at her anymore and found refuge on her lap, setting free all his pent up shame and sorrow. His shoulders quivered while he cried in silence. “Forgive me, forgive me. Oh mother I–– ! Forgive me!”

  Narcissa looked down at her son. Her left hand ran up and down his back while the other worked its way through his hair. For a long while mother and son didn’t move or say anything. Eventually, Draco lifted his head up and there it was, a dim glint in those blue as the sky eyes of his mother.

   “The Draco in my dreams would’ve never ask for forgiveness. My son, on the other hand––” She extended her arms, Draco clung to her, holding her tight. Those slender limbs engulfed him like a protective shield, as she’s always done. But time was of the essence. Draco had so much to say. Narcissa placed a finger on his lips. Words weren’t important at the moment. Having him back, being able to touch, to hear him that’s all she could handle.

  “There’s been too much horror and suffering, too many regrets and too much time dwelling on it.” She said.

  “You thought I was dead Mother and how could you not think so when I abandoned you. After all you’ve done––,”  He winced in obvious torment and then continued, his tone filled with rancour.  “After what they did to you, I –– I . . .”

  Draco averted his mother’s face bowing his head. He had so much to say, to ask her. What has been like for her?  How much torment had the Dementors inflicted on her poor soul already broken by grief and the memories of all the horrors she’d witnessed and was a victim of? How was he supposed to live three more years without her? Or make up it to her? The grey fabric she was clothed with felt coarse and thin to the touch and the woman wearing it was but a ghost. Pale, skin and bones. Her once rich and glossy hair was reduced to nothing but a few matted strands held in a long lock drawn together by yet another grey piece of cloth. Her body jerked, trembled at intervals and her eyes–– 

   Draco felt compelled to look into them and found a reflection of his own feelings. One stood out and Draco cursed inwardly blaming himself. Narcissa had no fight in her. Her gaze had wandered leaving the door ajar for Draco to take a peek into the past two years of her life, blaming himself and his selfish actions for adding to his mother’s torture.

  She blinked rapidly, returning her attention to Draco. It was amazing how much she could read in her son’s mesmerizing stare.  “I should have never believed the rumourmongers polluting this place.” The upturning of her lips was contrived. Smiling, laughing was long forgotten. Draco opened his mouth, Narcissa silenced him as she continued. “It was a weakness on my part.”

   Draco leapt up swiftly, fisting his hands, anger simmering within him. “Weakness! No, I left this place and never looked back. I ran would be a better word. I ran away mother!”

   Narcissa folded her hands on her lap, fighting the tremors she’d be suffering from months and now took for granted, abandoning herself to them. After all, what were a few tremors compared to a Dementor’s visit or her constant nightmares? Even talking drained her energy, but her son was back. Broken, lost and Draco needed her and she most definitely needed him.

  Draco wished so much to snatch her out of this place! She looked so small and fragile from where he stood. The candles flickered. Their shadows danced on the decrepit, filthy walls. He could hear the wind howling outside even though the door was closed and the chamber had no windows. Soon the guard would come back.

  Narcissa spoke as if she had read his mind. “I believe they’ll be coming for me soon but there will be a next time.” A question more than a statement.

   “You shouldn’t be here. Five years for crimes not of your making! Accused of being a Death Eater, A DEATH EATER! YOU WHO WERE NEVER BRANDED WITH THAT FILTH!” Narcissa wrapped her arms around her torso making herself small in the same fashion as someone avoiding a blow as the angry voice of her son bounced off the walls. From under her eyelashes she could see the man’s quick strides, disappearing to her left and coming into her vision as they faded to her right. Back and forth. Her body started to quiver out of control.

  “I don’t understand,” Draco continued his rant out loud, “It should be me, ME! Six months, six months while you–– you––And then–– I left you here and you thought I was dead! DEAD! I’m sorry, I should’ve––” The soft spoken words faded as Draco gaze turned toward the figure of his mother cocooned under the table. Panicked,  he was by her side instantly.

  Narcissa flinched as his fingers approached. She was shaking, her eyes open wide and out of focus. She was terrified. Soothing words, whispered nothings reached her while Draco patiently inched his way toward his mother. He was sitting on the floor not sure of what he was doing as he took his mother in his arms as if she were a small, frightened child. “It’s okay, I am sorry, I am sorry. Shhh, shh. It’s alright.” He was rocking her, kissing her head, her brow, praying the door behind him stayed closed for a few more minutes.

   Cradled in her son’s tight embrace, Narcissa’s body trembled and shook until it relaxed enough for Draco to rise and gently helped her back to her seat. Kneeling again, Draco took her chin and lifted her head up. Pulling a kerchief from the pocket of his pants, he wiped her face and lifted both sides of his mouth, attempting a reassuring, tender smile. Once finished, the small piece of linen rested on Narcissa’s lap. Draco took it, returning it to his back pocket. His eyes locked on his mother’s. It was disconcerting. She was in a trance-like state, her eyes fixed in whatever images her mind has conjured up. Even though her stare was directed at him, Draco knew it wasn’t him she was looking at. He took her face in his cold, trembling hands reaching with his silver, distraught eyes for his mother. The veil in her eyes drifted very slowly. The tremors subsided and her breathing wasn’t as laboured. Narcissa averted his gaze signalling, her embarrassment.

  Draco’s head moved to and fro. “No, mother,” he said tilting her head up again. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, not ever. I’m the one who’s shamed not only you but––” He swallowed but regained his composure. They may have a few seconds, maybe a minute.

  One of his hands scurried underneath his cape, producing a small square piece of paper. He placed the moving picture on the palm of her hand. “This is the picture of my son.” His eyes glistened and his breath stilled. 

   It was a spare of the moment decision. There was very little he could do to alleviate the hardships of the infernal prison. He had nothing to give to her but his shame and his guilt. Everything in his life was tainted by his past, but them. Hermione and John Albus. Waiting expectantly for his mother’s reaction, Draco observed Narcissa taking the picture in her hand, caressing it with the other. The one person they’d never talked about was in it.

  Without lifting her gaze she said. “For centuries our family held on to traditions and beliefs few cared to uphold. Our ancestral names intimately attached to those tenets and for that we were despised, feared and envied. We, Malfoys and Blacks could claim the right to stand in judgement. We of pure blood.”  She allowed her gaze to meet his as she placed the picture against her chest. One hand caressed her son’s face and stayed there. “But it was not the impure of blood who snuffed your father’s life or used a child as a weapon against his own parents nor was I spared the contemptible humiliation of––” Hatred spilled in every word she uttered. Raw rage coated her speech as she went on. “Pure blood–– Voldemort’s obssesion. Voldemort’s lies and deceit. Monsters! Scum! Pure blood maggots! They dared touched you!” Her whole face tensed, the hue in her eyes darkened. She was shaking but this time it was not fear but such deep loathing, the likes of which Draco had never seen. 

   The unexpected reaction bound his speech. He was cognizant, always been aware of the boundless love his parents felt for him. Lucius loved him but his father feared Voldemort more; his mother loved him above everyone else. As Voldemort’s power increased it became apparent that those who pledge their alliance to the powerful, deranged wizard had placed at his feet the means to control and manipulate their will. Family ties were the perfect tool as the Malfoys learned first hand. Tom Riddle’s folly had been to underestimate the depth of such feelings. A mother’s love had no boundaries, knew no fear, had no loyalty but to the fruit of her womb. Tom faced such love with Lily Potter and again with Narcissa Malfoy Black.  Tom Riddle ignored it, dismissed it and eventually was defeated by it.

   Narcissa’s lips were moving stopping Draco’s inner thoughts. “–– your smile.” He noticed his mother was talking about his son with all the tenderness and love only a grandmother was capable of, and if she could, Draco was certain, the little boy would be held close to her heart in a tight embrace. He let out the breath he had been holding.

    “I presume those curls are hers––” It was the first time Hermione was mentioned, ever. Draco assented.

   “Are they the reason for your long absence?” she asked chastising him a little.

   “No, Mother. They have nothing to do with my abject behaviour toward you,” he replied.

  Narcissa inclined her head to one side, then to the other, studying her son’s face, focusing the aim of her gaze to the telling tale of Draco’s argent, almost mirror like eyes. A slight tremor slid through her body. They both ignored it. The door opened. Draco rose offering his hand to Narcissa. The small, fragile woman extended the hand holding the photograph but Draco shook his head. “It’s yours to keep.”

  The guard growled his impatience. Narcissa fingers held on to Draco’s while mother and son said their goodbyes in silence. Draco’s hand lingered on mid-air as his mother made her way out. Suddenly she pivoted on her heels. “I don’t know his name”

   “John Albus. Born November tenth, 1999, he said with pride.

  “Goodbye son,” she said quivering again.

  “Not goodbye Mother. I’ll be back.” A promise he meant to keep.

   He stood there, his eyes fixed on the door. Relieved, happy and dejected at the same time. Aware of a presence behind him, Draco turned around. The same guard who escorted the visitors from the beach had placed a parchment on the table. Draco was aware he wasn’t whoever-his-name-was’ most favourite person.

   “I believe that’s mine,” Draco claimed coldly.

  The stout Mr. Wren closed the gap between them. A head shorter than Draco but twice as strong Mr. Wren gritted his teeth as he said. “Nothing will please me more than erasing that smirk off your face you–– you turned tail scum.” The tip of his wand digged into Draco’s throat. “Your mother grieved loudly for her dead son. Music to my ears. A Malfoy crawling on dirt, crying, begging for death. What a beautiful sight!”

    In an instant Mr. Wren found himself perched against the wall, feet dangling and his own wand in the hands of an enraged Draco Malfoy. “I want my parchment and my wand back, please,” Draco asked in a cold-blooded tone. “Now!” he shouted.

  Two guards barged in wand at the ready. Draco let go of Mr. Wren, who fell unceremoniously to the ground. Spinning around, and before the two dumbfounded wizards uttered a word, he handed Mr. Wren’s wand to one of them. “I’d like my parchment and my wand if you will,” he said hoarsely.

   “I’d like a word with Mr. Wren first,” the man said.

  Draco left the room with wide, angry strides barely able to contain his anger. Kicking the door open he walked into the small room which served as the reception area for visitors cursing out loud. He paced back and forth like a caged animal, raking his hair wandering if he had made one of the biggest mistakes of his life by allowing the loathsome Mr. Wren to bait him.

  “Mr. Malfoy, my name is Carl Hirsch and I would like an explanation.” Draco stopped at the sound of the voice of one the guards who’d come to Mr. Wren’s aid.

  Draco and Mr. Hirsch sized each other up. Both of the same height and complexion, young and polished. One with fisted hands at his sides, the other with arms crossed on his chest and if first impressions were true, Mr. Hirsch seemed to be a reasonable man.

   “You assaulted one of my colleages, that alone is grounds for an investigation but––” Mr. Hirsch relaxed his stance some. “Mr. Wren is involved, an oversight on my part. Still, if he presses charges I must know all the facts”

  Draco gave out a mocking laugh. “All the facts.” Draco dragged his words. “Very well, here are all the facts. Fact one: I’m a Malfoy, a known Death Eater and for that I was sent here to this–– “ he glanced around, “cesspool. Fact number two: as much as you may find my presence repugnant, my mother is here and I intend to visit her, often. Fact number three: I don’t expect cheers and good will toward the likes of me.  But––” The veins in his neck pulsated and engorged as his anger resurfaced. His breath quickened and his nails reopened the wounds in the palms of his hands. “Insults, taunting, wands digging into my neck. Am I to look forward to more of the same for as long as my mother is here?”  He asked with mordacity.

  Mr. Hirsch listened to the man named Draco Malfoy and sighed inwardly. As much as the new administration at the Ministry of Magic strived to be a more open, compassionate and enlightened branch of government, the truth was blood had been spilled in a brutal war and those victimized by it, and to be precise, by Voldemort’s minions, had long-lasting memories. Mr.Wren being one of them. Death Eaters raped, sodomized his mother and sister, muggles both, and not satisfied with such atrocities they outdid themselves by inflicting the Cruciatus curse long enough to kill them. He should’ve have known better than to assign Chris to the visitors gate. Carl Hirsch was given one of the top new positions in Azkaban due to the fact that his family had taken up residence in America for most of his life. He was a British citizen but one with no baggage, so to speak, having been home schooled for most of his life. Barely thirty years old but with a degree in wizarding law, first in his class and bursting with new ideas and the fact that he had no preference as to where he wanted to practice his craft, it was no wonder the Department of Magical Law Enforcement gave him the post in Azkaban. That was almost two years ago. Enough to know who was standing in front of him.

  He handed Draco the parchment and the wand. Draco snatched them and made his way to the exit. “A word of advise, if I may Mr. Malfoy.” Draco stopped but didn’t turn around. Mr. Hirsch carried on. “The road to redemption is steep and treacherous. Few reach its  zenith. More resign themselves to a life of self-loathing and despair. For your mother’s sake, I hope you are one of the former. I’ll see you two weeks from now.”

   Draco stepped into the darkness and again Mr. Hirsch’s voice reached him. “By the way, owls are permitted, one per week, albeit subject to inspection. Have a good day Mr. Malfoy.”

  As he reached the beach Draco gave Azkaban a cold, detached glance. He was no longer beholden to its clutches that was true; more or less, he admitted.  Thunder drummed in his ears, lightning luminated the sandy path and the ever darkened skies painted a most gloomy picture but if one’s gazed ventured far into the distance, if one strained one’s pupils, there was but the tiniest glow in the horizon. Draco climbed into the boat and took his place in the worn out seat resting his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands. His blond locks billowed furiously. His eyes watered as the wind and the rain punished his face. Ahead, the ribbon of light he saw from Azkaban became a bright blue sky where the sun reigned supreme. Draco stepped out and basked in the warmth of the summer afternoon. _‘The road to redemption.’_ An appropriate metaphor, he thought. Was he strong enough to embark in such a journey? Again, doubt crept in. He had faced one of his many demons and came out the victor. Azkaban’s chains no longer had a hold on him, but he’d have to learn to live with the memories. One small, insignificant step to ‘redemption.’ Draco’s stride quickened, his posture muted, grew; his sharp angled features tensed. Draco Malfoy was no hero; he never claimed to be one nor did he wish to be one. What he was sure of was that he couldn’t go back to the person he used to be. Who was he now?  Maybe he’d find the answers as he stumbled on his way up to the top of Mount Redemption. _‘It’s going to work out, you’ll see’_ , Maggie whispered again and Draco dared to hope.


	29. Chapter 29

  
Author's notes:

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** Disclaimer ** **: J K Rowling owns everything which has to do with the Harry Potter series.**

** A/N: ** **Finally! Once again, I found myself betaless for a while until alina290 was generous enough to offer her time and talent to help me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.  **

**Draco and Hermione will have a chance to ‘talk’ next chapter.**

 

**• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •**

**Chapter 29: Neither Here Nor There.**

If, and it was a big IF, she were to believe in the teachings of Trelawney, Hermione could have interpreted the For Sale sign as an omen of sorts. Her belief system had been transformed somehow and the duality of her spirituality, one part magic one part Muggle wasn’t a debilitating force, on the contrary, it was the reason why she hadn’t sought refuge in the expected despair or the destructive depression which would have monopolized her just a couple of  weeks ago. Regardless of the tears, conflicting and confusing sentiments wrecking havoc within her, Hermione acknowledged that finally she was beginning to see the light in more ways than she’d have ever imagined. Her wondering thoughts dissipated and her attention returned to that which caught her attention as she was about to enter the bookshop. Crooked, visible through the dirty glass it beckoned her. Taking a couple of steps to the side, the young witch stood in front of what used to be  known as Mr. and Mrs. Cooper’s Antiques Store and glided her gaze through the abandoned space. It was amazing. For more than a year she had come in and out of The Last Page without giving the former store a second glance, as if there was nothing but empty space and a little  red and white plastic square announcement yanked her attention back to it. Stepping back, hands on her hips Hermione lifted her head and bit her lower lip gently.

  “Do not even think about it.” Startled Hermione snapped her head back to her boss. “My answer is noooo.” Mr. Lynch lengthened the last word.

  “I was just looking and you almost made my heart stop!” Hands still on her hips Hermione confronted him.

  “And yet my answer still is no,” he smirked.

   The duel of gazes continued for a few moments. Hermione let out a disgruntled sigh and pointed at their surroundings as she started talking. “In case you haven’t noticed your business is booming in spite of your less than exemplary management and ghastly people’s skills”  Mr. Lynch was about to retort but was cut short by Hermione’s admonishment. “The neighbourhood is changing; your clientele is changing too. More students, more young families and we need the bloody space!”

  Jeremiah Lynch suppressed a chuckle. There was nothing more endearing and amusing at the same time than Hermione Granger huffing and puffing like an old matron watching after a stubborn child. The coffee hue in her eyes sparkled giving the impression that fireworks out of control were about to shot out of them, her hands spread wide on her hips and her chin up, defiant. Hermione was neither tall nor short but when annoyed it was if she was looking straight into the man’s eyes who was at least a head taller than she was.  Hermione cared for his shop, she was the one who resurrected it and if he were bold enough he could say The Last Page saved her. 

  Folding his arms on his chest Mr. Lynch allowed his gaze to wander up and down the abandoned shop. They had discussed its acquisition a while back. He had given Hermione a resounding no for an answer. 

 “Be that as it may, I’d say no, again” He waited for her witty come back. Her stance changed. Her whole expression altered, softened. Hermione was anxious, eager, pleading.

  “Mr. Lynch, I care for your shop, I do! I also care about your customers even dear old Mrs. Travis and Mrs. Murdoch. Your shop––well––I never told you this but––in a way you saved me from––,”  She paused struggling to contain her emotions. “I love The Last Page more than you could ever imagine. I know you do too. I’m just asking–– I mean–– give us a chance please!”

  _‘Us’_ ,  Jeremiah didn’t miss it. Something stirred within. Happy memories resurfaced. Many, many moons ago, a bright, full of life young woman stood by his side beaming with pride and joy as the doors of The Last Page opened for the first time. Hermione was invested in his shop like his dear sister Maude used to be. Maude–– the best part of him, gone, taken away by a horrible disease leaving him empty, clinging to the one thing she loved the most. There were no physical similarities between the young woman standing by his side and Maude. Quite the opposite. Yet, like Maude, Hermione treated books as if they were alive, each with its own personality. Some books, Hermione would read over and over again, singing their praises to the customers. Others she disliked, although not to the point of mistreating them. She would banish them to the highest shelf where they could mingle with their other nutty peers. If The Last Page saved the young brunette, she in return kept Maude’s memory alive in the best manner possible: by caring for her shop. Was Maude trying to reach him? Was Hermione the messenger? Had he been so overcome by grief that he missed the point? Was Maude’s memory tarnished somehow by his neglect of the one thing she loved the most? What would she have said at the sight of books piled on top of each other, dusty, forgotten? Of dirty, damaged walls? Of the somber ambiance? Until Hermione came along,  the whole shop resembled more a mortuary than a place where imagination soared and love, and adventure and mystery lifted up the soul. _‘Sorry it has taken me this long darling.’_ He could almost see his sister shaking her head, mocking her thick headed brother.

  The two figures glanced back at the former antique shop. Hermione’s eyes sneaked a peek at her boss, he returned the gesture and sighed silently. In a blink of an eye his steps led him to bookshop; he unlocked the door and went in. Confused and a bit scared, Hermione followed him.

  Mr. Lynch’s roaring voice reached her from the office. “I’ll call the agent to take a look and wipe that grin off your face!” Hermione did and wonder how could he possible know she was smiling from ear to ear. “I’m not promising anything.” He said loudly.

  He came out donning a sulky expression and a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “This would mean a lot more work for you. This is going to be your baby. You’ll deal with the architects and the engineers.” He pointed a finger at her. “You will be running a bigger, busier shop my lady. Is that what you want?” 

  “Engineers, architects? But I know nothing about––” Now she’d done it! 

   “Walls will have to come down, the whole place is going to need rewiring, pipes have to be replaced,  and we need permits to do all that. What did you think would happen? You’d snap your fingers and voilá, new store is born? I don’t envy you but as the manager of the place it is expected that you’ll be involved.”  He was enjoying this too much. Hermione was at the brink of tears.

  “Manager? I just work for you!” She was doing serious damage to her upper lip.

    “And I just promoted you. You can have the flat upstairs. Consider it part of your wage increase”  An astonished Hermione watched him manoeuvred his body through the narrow corridor. She ran to him and grabbed his arm.

  “I––I––the flat, but I live with my parents! Manager! I don’t have a business degree, I didn’t even finish school! You can’t possibly––.” Time to put the poor girl out of her misery.

  “You’ve been running The Last Page for the past few years! You take care of the bank deposits, your own salary, orders, back orders and you pay my taxes. You did this!” He waived his hand around. “I don’t need a fancy piece of paper to know how much time and effort you are willing to put in or how much you care for this place. You know more about managing this shop than its owner. You are honest, devoted, generous and you won’t be doing it alone.” He said almost tenderly.

 Hermione let out a sigh of relief and met Mr. Lynch’s smiling eyes. “The flat is too much. An increase in my wages would be enough, thank you.”  She could kiss him!

  “There’ll be times when you’d need to be here earlier than usual.” He masked his eagerness for her to accept his gift because that’s what the flat was. Maude would want it.

  “I’d never thought of moving out” She couldn’t afford it and leaving her parents never occurred to her till a few days ago.

   “And now?” He asked.

   Hermione leaned on the corner of the display table facing the big front window. She was pensive for a few seconds. Her gaze drifted to the ground while her hands lifted and rested on the table each on either side of her hips. There were going to be a few obstacles along the way, growing pains as it were. She went back to omens, signs from beyond, God answering prayers, sometimes before one asked. She rose her head up. Jeremiah Lynch knew what her answer would be before the words came out of her mouth and  his heart leaped with gladness.

  “I won’t disappoint you sir. I’ll take the flat but I’ll pay rent. We have a deal.” She said with a mix of fear and excitement at the same time.

 ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ 

  Ginny told him where to find Hermione if his friend wasn’t in the shop during lunch hour. He found her in the in the little park located around the corner. Leaning against the brick wall, concealed from Hermione by a large shrub Harry glanced around the vicinity. Few casted a curious gaze at him as they strolled by.  It was a nice, warm day. The skies a bit gray. Nothing out of  the ordinary.  Rather than make his presence known Harry observed Hermione from the distance. Hermione wasn’t facing him, he could see her profile. Oblivious to the chatter and lively activity of those around her, Hermione took a small bite from her sandwich and continued writing, ceasing a few seconds to think and then going back to her pen and paper activity. _‘Some things never change’_ thought Harry with fondness and longing. The old Hermione was still around. Her old gestures and ticks were there, her physical appearance hadn’t changed much either. The tone with which she chided her son the same she used with him and Ron. The orderly, methodical fashion when performing something as menial as doing laundry was the same she used to study, research or analyze any text or situation. In spite of those tumultuous months after the war her generosity and forgiving heart were intact. Yet, Hermione Granger was not the same.

  She was a Muggle now. No trace of magic in her life. She dressed, ate, talked, and thought like a Muggle. The reality of Magic and magical folk was a fact she could not deny. How could she, when she used to be one of them? There were wizards and witches and they lived in a parallel world to hers. She used to be a witch and if prompted she could perform magic like on Saturday and forget about it the next minute. Magic no longer defined or captivated her. Hermione might have forgiven them but she had not forgotten. For that is what was at the heart of everything about the new Hermione: not being able to remember without coating everything in the wizarding world with the same varnish as her experience of  the last nine months she lived among them. As irrational as it was; there was no other explanation. Just as his behaviour since Voldemort’s defeat had no rational explanation either. Talking to Hermione lifted some of the fog of the past years of his life and made him realized how much alike their actions had been.

    Years ago he could have approach Hermione and shake some sense into her. Together they’ve gone through hell and back. They have seen each other at their worst and at their best. They were the best of friends, brother and sister. He trusted her with his life, even today. Hermione’s loyalty, generosity and sense of justice was intact, not so her trust. Furthermore, because he had been instrumental in breaching  that trust Harry was at a loss. Ever since their conversation at The Last Page and at The Burrow his guilt had grown ten fold.  Just a few days ago at the shop when  Hermione  looked directly into his eyes and dared Harry to deny his true feelings about Draco and her relationship with the former Death Eater; he expressed aloud what he thought, what he had always felt about Draco Malfoy. He couldn’t help himself and as he let go of the restrains on his emotions Hermione listened and when she spoke there were no recriminations nor did she denied or invalidated what he thought of her lover and former Death Eater. Instead, forgiveness and friendship dominated their conversation. Her resentment, on the other hand,  became evident at The Burrow  and then at her parent’s home and its target surprisingly for Harry was not only Ron or the magical world but Draco himself. Love for Hermione was absolute. From Hermione’s point of view alongside love there should always be trust. One couldn’t exist without the other.

  Harry trembled, hugging himself. An uncomfortable lack of warmth spread through his body and he recognized it for what it was, a warning. Sifting through his past weakened his defenses. Thinking about what was and could have been kindled the dormant embers of his guilt, inflaming the fire of the anger at himself. He glanced back at Hermione and unaware of it, his feet shortened the distance which separated them. He paused for a second and then continued. He sat by her side. Hermione lifted her head up and stared at him, until her prying gaze locked with his. His hands, cold and moist were nestled in hers and then she smiled.

  “Better?” She asked softly. He nodded. “Care to talk about it? If you don’t that’s okay.” Her thumbs caressed the side of his hands while her eyes clung to his still. 

  “I’m afraid Hermione.” He admitted. Hermione said nothing and got up gathering her pad of paper, a book, and writing tools, placing them inside her backpack. Her half-eaten sandwich ended up in a small plastic container and inside her backpack as well. Looking down at Harry, she offered her hand.

  “Let’s go for a walk and give Mrs. Travis a treat.” Holding hands, they strolled into the sidewalk but not in the direction of the bookshop. “We’ll go around the block. I have time.” She said as she flung her bag and straddled her shoulders with it. She chained her arm with Harry’s.

   Nothing was said for while until Harry slowed his pace. “You were not surprised to see me?” He asked.

  “I could see you from the corner of my eye.” She answered cheerfully. “I’m glad you came” She gave him a peck on his cheek. Harry placed his hand over the one she had on the crook of his arm turning his attention to his surroundings.

  It turned out to be an insightful and entertaining walk. Hermione was well known. It was evident by the nod of the heads acknowledging her, a wave of a hand.  Some stopped to inquire about her son and family, others chatted about this or that gossip and of course, she introduced him to each and everyone as Harry, a friend from school. She waved to those inside of shops. Few, to be more precise  Mrs. Murdoch and Mrs. Travis asked about ‘the blond young man they met on Monday’ giving Harry a thorough examination as if comparing said blond person and the dark-haired man holding Hermione’s arm so intimately. 

  Hermione rolled her eyes as soon as the two old gossips were out of sight. “I’d say Mrs. Travis have a whole day to entertaining herself with my new beau.” She was trapping her unruly curls into one of her oversized ponytails as she stopped in front of a window using it as a mirror. Satisfied with the results she indicated with her head for Harry to follow her. Before going into the bookshop, Horace handed her the newspaper and once again, Harry shook hands with another of Hermione’s neighbours as she called them.  Their stroll around the block ended. 

  Keys in hand Hermione opened the shop; turned the lights on and flipped the Closed sign to Open. Harry watched the happy cadency of her steps take her to the back office from which she emerged with two bottles of water in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. Neither he nor Ginny were sure what to make of her attitude since their visit on Sunday. The expected talk about Malfoy never materialized. No matter how many times Ginny tried to bring the conversation back to it, Hermione ignored them. Malfoy’s threats, his injuries due to a thorough beating or his infidelity surely had some impact on her and yet, she played with her son, laughed and joked with them without a care in the world. Nothing in her behaviour or body language gave them any clue about her state of mind. In the past Hermione would have shown more emotion than any person Harry had ever known; three years later Hermione had learned the fine art of concealment and it scared him because Harry saw a different Hermione on Saturday; the one he remembered. The one whom less than half hour ago read him so well it mesmerized and unnerved him to the point of blurting that most telling of sentences, _‘I am afraid Hermione.’_

  “Harry?” The soft spoken words sailed into the quiet which surrounded them diverting Harry from his thoughts. Hermione waited behind the counter but Harry wasn’t sure what to say. 

   He had barely moved since coming inside the shop. Suddenly the physical distance between them tugged at his heart. It resembled the way he’d kept  Ginny, his few friends from Hogwarts and the whole world  at a distance. There Hermione was, not far enough that he couldn’t see her or hear her but enough so that he couldn’t touch her or look into her eyes. Another discovery, another metaphor of his life. His footsteps brought him to the counter and this time it was Harry who did the staring, the probing.

  “How did you––?” His inquiry was cut short.

   “You stood there for more than five minutes. That wasn’t it though.  It was your hands”  Hermione’s right hand came up. Her thumb skimmed through the tip of her fingers. “One of the guys in my support group did the same. First he would touch his  fingers as if they were tingling and then,” Her hand became a fist. “When he closed his hand like this, we knew what was coming next. Cold sweat, he’d hugged himself and rocked back and forth, staring into nothingness. We knew better. He wasn’t there with us, he was reliving the moment his father beat his mother to death. One day I took his hands in mine––,”  Hermione paused. “They were so cold, so cold.”  

  She stopped again staring at him. “I couldn’t see your face proper but the way you hugged yourself and rocked on your heels, and then how you just froze.” The compassionate warmth in her chocolate gaze imbued her whole face and like a blanket wrapped Harry in it. “There’s nothing to be afraid of Harry, I told you. What you have been going through is normal. For God’s sake Harry! It’s a miracle you turned out the way you did! Abused by the Dursleys, because that’s what it’s called, physical and mental abuse!” 

  Her whole demeanor changed in an instant. An enraged Hermione pace back and forth. “Not content with that, you learned your parents were murdered by a sociopath wizard, that your mother gave her life to protect you from the son a bitch. To top it all and why not make it better! Not only did you learn the truth about who your parents were but that you, Harry James Potter, was the wizard destined to defeat Tom Riddle, psycho bastard per excellence! So, because it wasn’t enough you see, for seven years you had to fight Voldemort in all shapes and forms, the idiocy of the Ministry not believing he was back and what not! More abuse at the one place you thought of as home! Abuse brought on by the Ministry itself through that toad face witch of Umbridge. Remember Umbridge? Surely you have not forgotten about her!

  Hermione was fuming. “You did what was expected. You saved us all. You became a hero. Well, bloody fucking sod them all!  Did anyone wonder how it all affected you? I mean, other than gawking at you, taking pictures, and smile like blabbering idiots. Did someone, anyone wonder about you, or Neville, Luna, poor Tedy left without his parents, the Weasleys? It was war! People died right, left, front, center and––” 

  Harry’s response made it as far as his opened mouth without materializing into words. Hermione waved her right hand dismissing the gesture. She came swiftly from behind the counter and placed her hands on his shoulders and  said, “Let it go Harry, the past, let it go. It’s no longer who you are. Don’t waste your time asking why? You’ll never get an answer. Not from them.  Your life belongs to you now. Think of the possibilities, of Ginny and screw them all!” 

   Seconds ticked by. Conversation reduced to a fixed and intent stare into each other’s eyes. Hermione’s words were a revelation to both of them. “And screw them all” Harry paraphrased her out loud. Nervously, Harry brushed his hair with his fingers digesting the meaning behind the fervent diatribe while at the same time the not so peaceful green in his eyes fastened to Hermione’s fiery orbs.

 Hermione released the grip on his shoulders and leaned against the massive bookshelf at her back, lacing her arms across her chest. Once her emotions took over she couldn’t stop and as the words flew out of her mouth the subtle message delivered  left her grasping for air, reeling. She was well aware of the concern of her parents and friends. They wondered why she hadn’t said a word about Draco. Her mother feared for her mental well-being. Her father wasn’t as worried as he was expectant. John Granger sensed a change in her. Her father would walk alongside her as long as it was her choice and her choice alone. Harry–– Draco–– For them it was a matter of pride and guilt. Harry, the  reluctant hero needed but a word from Hermione and he would slain the dragon, restored her honour and stand by her side as her knight in shining armor. Harry’s quest for atonement for his real as well as imaginary sins would be a fact of life for many months or years to come. Draco’s quest was a muddled affair. Pride, shame and guilt clouded his judgement and fueled his actions. She shelved the pain and indignation his behaviour elicited in her. Not that Draco wasn’t with  her every waking second. Their time will come. The humiliation Draco subjected her to dictated her actions. He’ll have to take the first step. She’ll be waiting, watching him and learning him. His betrayal stung deep. It was a betrayal not so much of the flesh but of his confidence in their love, in her. The tightening in her chest released the hurt in her heart going all the way to her eyes where she fought against tears. She took a deep breath, sighed and remembered a promise made to herself: she was done crying.

   Harry slid his fingers through his head and then hid his hands in the pockets of his pants. His shoulders squared themselves. Holding Hermione’s gaze he said, “I am afraid of myself but you––”

  Hermione shook her head. Her stance one of defiance. “Don’t you dare Harry Potter, don’t you go on  lecturing me, you have not earned that right yet. You know nothing about me!”

  “I do know you and I love you and missed you and I can’t believe you are going to––” He fought against the intense anger flowing through him and the fear of losing her again. “You are running away Hermione.”

  “And we are talking about you.” No longer leaning against the bookshelf, Hermione went back to her spot behind the counter, turned the cap of one of the water bottles, took a sip and continued sorting the papers scattered on the counter. The phone rang. Hermione quickly stepped into the office to answer it. It was an animated conversation as far as Harry could hear. Good news apparently, if the glow on her face was any indication of it. Their discussion forgotten Hermione could barely contained her enthusiasm as she came out. Her gaze wandered happily around the shop. The glint in her eyes was bright, expectant and full of life. Whatever transpired in the short exchange over the telephone must have been great news and Harry was dying to find out what they were.

  “We are expanding!” Hermione announced triumphantly. “Mr. Lynch and the agent are coming in a few minutes to take a look next door and then Harry, The Last Page is in for a big change and I’ll be part of it!” She added extending her arms as she twirled like a small child.

  Harry had to ask. “What are you talking about Hermione?”

  She stared at Harry focusing on his concerned features. In her excitement she’d forgotten about what they were discussing. Harry listened and despaired some more as Hermione related her conversation with Mr. Lynch.

  “You are moving out. You are going to manage the shop and you  can’t be more excited” He summarized what in his mind was a confirmation that Hermione was all but lost to the wizarding world. His chest felt hollow. Anger sipped through every pore in his body. Anger at himself, at her, Draco, at everything which brought them to this moment.

  “You are right, I don’t know you anymore.” He said huskily, bitterly. Afraid of what he might say he mustered some control and said in an even tone.  “I’d better go. You are busy.”

  Hermione approached him as Harry backed down towards the exit. Turning around he made for the door with Hermione running after him obstructing his steps. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

  Harry wouldn’t answer. Hermione’s hands braced themselves on his upper arms and through her fingers she could feel his bunched up muscles, tight and tense. That bright, peaceful forest green in his eyes had turned dark and anxious. “I’m still your friend Harry! Talk to me, please?”

  Deflated Harry said, “One minute you are the Hermione I remembered, another I barely recognize you.” He shook his head. “I can’t keep up. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  It was like walking on eggshells, that’s what it felt like. He couldn’t cope with the changes. He didn’t know what to say, how to say it or when to say it. “I need to go Hermione.” He wasn’t angry, he was–– sad, regretful and pretty much about to lose it. “I’ll see you around”

  However, Hermione wouldn’t let him go positioning herself between him and the door. “You are not leaving until you tell me what’s going on. You said you’re afraid of yourself. You are not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you Harry?”

  To her utter amazement Harry turned around and pounded the floor with resolve toward the back office. Hermione grabbed a book, aimed and threw it at Harry. Bull’s eye! It collided with Harry’s head just as he was about to enter the office. Dazed, the startled wizard had to lean against the office’s doorframe. Hermione ran to him.

   “Oh my God Harry! Are you okay?” Hermione hauled Harry to the sofa. Expert fingers examined the back of his head. “Oh good! No cuts.” Leaning back Harry closed his eyes. Little, shining stars fluttered behind his eyelids. His right hand grazed the back of  his head finding the evidence of his friend’s excellent aim. Hermione sat beside him. “Here, some ice for the swelling.”

  Harry took the small plastic bag containing the frozen water staring with disbelief and a bit of amusement at the young witch. Hermione sat beside him watching closely as his hand reached the back of his head. By the expectant expression in her eyes, the ever telling tale of the biting of her bottom lip it was obvious Miss Granger was most sorry for the injury to her beloved friend. All the sadness and irascibility he felt just a few minutes ago dissipated. What else could Harry do but smile!

  “That right hand of yours is still lethal.”  Harry said contracting his features. 

  “You are not angry at me?” She asked with apprehension, albeit a bit confused with the almost playful tone Harry had used.

  “I have never been  angry at you for long, you know?”  His words came through clenched teeth as his fingers made contact with the bump on his head. Glancing at his friend, Harry deduced his statement was met with some skepticism. He sighed. 

  “I’ve never hated you Hermione.”  He said looking squarely into her eyes. “It was more like––like––you, the Hermione I knew had gone, died.” He said with sorrow as the memories engulfed them once more. “Everything around me crumbled. Snape wasn’t the murderer I thought he was. My parents, the others––. It was like everything I went through was for nothing and out of nowhere you––”  

  Harry rose and gazed down at Hermione. “I am sorry––”

  Hermione shook her head as if he was giving her the wrong answer. Padding the sofa, she invited Harry to sit. He did. Hermione took a rebellious strand of hair from her face and tucked it in behind her ear breathing in hard and then exhaling softly. “Harry, we’ve established that you are sorry, I am sorry, Ginny is sorry, everybody is sorry! Now, what are we to do now is the question.”

  Harry’s fingers brushed his hair nervously, again. It was obvious there was much he wanted to convey to his friend and wasn’t sure how to go about it without engaging in another explosive discussion.  But Hermione came to his rescue giving voice to his thoughts.

  “Harry, friends who love each other the way you and I do can agree to disagree, we’ve done it before!” She said.

  “This is different Hermione and you know it. You just told me I know nothing about you that I haven’t earned the right to tell you anything but you expect me to tell you things, how exactly am I supposed to react?”  Harry massaged his temple. A slight headache was deviously working its way in.

  Emulating Harry, Hermione’s fingers kneaded her forehead closing her eyes in search of the proper words; when she opened them, Harry was standing looking down at her. At least he was no longer in panic mode and his concentration was on them which from Hermione’s point of view was absolutely where it should be. Barring the last few years apart if there were two people who could talk to each other about almost anything it was them.  Not that Harry and Hermione needed to say much or ever did; sometimes it was sitting side by side in silence all there was. One look, one gesture it was  all it took most of the time. Stealing a glance back to the shop Hermione then turned her attention to the man, the wizard with messy black hair, dirty old trainers, faded jeans and a not so clean T-shirt waiting for her answer. He was three years older and most certainly wiser and if she was true to herself there was not anyone she would rather bare her soul to than Harry Potter. 

  Stretching her neck up since Harry was looking down at her she said, “Sorry if I sounded a bit vindictive a few minutes ago, I’m only human Harry. Forgiving is one thing, forgetting is another.” 

Harry leaned on the file cabinet behind him. Hermione continued. “I am in love with Draco Malfoy and he is John Albus’s father. You don’t have to like it and  I’m fine with it. I ran away, you are right. It all was too much for me and I snapped. No friends to lean on, in love with my former tormentor and nemesis who most likely would  end up in jail and to make matters worse, I was pregnant; scared witless for the first time in my life. Then, the nightmares, panic attacks, and a not so pleasant pregnancy which by the way was in some ways quite lonely, yes my parents were with me but it would have been nice to have my friend’s support.  Ginny appears out of nowhere and lo and behold so does Draco whom I thought dead. Then you and your stupid stunt, the Weasleys, my parents, John Albus with his oh so amazing display of magic and––you get the picture. In less than three weeks everything and I mean everything in my life has been royally fucked so to speak.” Harry gave her an admonishing glance. “Sorry but sometimes words do elude me.” Hands in her lap and an expression of seriousness and amusement all at once, Hermione signaled Harry that it was his turn.

  Harry’s lips upturned ever so slightly while his head moved to and fro like a father amused by the antics of his child. His hands found his front pockets. The dark clouds in his eyes had all but disappeared.  “I want you back Hermione, back to our world, your world, the way it should be. I thought you were ready, that once we started talking––.  I mean, you enjoyed your visit to the Weasley’s did you not? You used magic for Merlin’s sake! Malfoy is out there scheming to take your son away from you and all you do is––is–– nothing!” Harry controlled his temper. Talking about Draco Malfoy caused all sorts of negative feelings in him. “I know you think my hatred for him clouds my judgment but you were there, you heard him Hermione. Now you are talking about moving out,  managing the shop  and you are happy about it! I can’t understand what’s going on!”

  He was covering the small office back and forth. Hermione’s eyes followed him attentively. Harry stopped by the desk and picked a small ball, it was soft. His fingers tightened around it. His attention returned to Hermione while his hand squeezed the ball instinctively. “I can’t think of you as a Muggle Hermione. I can’t pretend like you do that all is well when I know it is not.” He hesitated, his fingers closed tightly around the ball. “You are running away. You can’t forgive or forget and you are scared. There is no other explanation.” He let out a self mocking snort. “I guess Ron and Rita Skeeter do have the final laugh and I helped, didn’t I?”

   Hermione’s eyebrows rose all the way to her hairline while her  eyes rolled most enthusiastically to the back of her head and then she smiled, she grinned! Harry couldn’t believe it. Hermione rose, still smiling took his face in her hands and kiss his flushed cheek. 

  “No matter where I am, who I’m with I will never stop being your friend and–– Ron and Rita Skeeter are not going to have the last laugh. If you are trying to bait me Harry, is not going to work.”  

  “But––” Harry interjected.

   “Did I say I was never going back or that I wasn’t going to use magic ever again?” She asked. Shaking her head she added. “No I didn’t. Besides, why does it have to be one or the other? Why not both?

   “What are you saying?” Harry asked eagerly.

  “I am saying Harry what you just heard. This is what I want. If I was running away I’m not anymore. I am a witch who loves living as a Muggle and I could be a Muggle who enjoys being a witch. As for Draco––” She sighed and some of the glint in her gaze clouded with some sadness. “I’d rather talk about it later. Rita Skeeter and Ron  can go to hell for all I care.”  

  Harry smirked at her last words. “That’s not what I heard on Saturday.” He put a finger on Hermione’s lips silencing her protest feeling more and more comfortable with their sparring. “You are not a tart or a traitor. You said you missed ‘us’ but you’re not so sure about the kind of welcome you’d have if you were to come back. You stood in front of  hundreds of people and told them why we fought against Voldemort. Remember? There is no more **us** or **them** ” He was quoting her almost word for word. “You fought not only for Voldemort’s victims but for his followers and their descendants. You wanted a wizarding world where you could be free to love whom you chose. So that your son could live his life free of the sins of his father. Are you retracting now? Are you saying that now, when it counts the most you are letting them win? After all the sacrifices you’ve made?!”

  What was she supposed to answer? Those were her words. Harry wasn’t holding any punches, wasn’t he? “I also said being away helped me and I stand by it.”  She retorted. “Could you stop pacing! I’m dizzy!” She asked in her well known chastising tone.

  Harry ignored her but did stop to open the small fridge on top of the filing cabinet. “Aha!” He exclaimed, grabbing a can of soda. 

  Hermione had crossed her arms over her chest conveying the  annoyance she felt. Harry drank smirking at her and finally sat. “Good stuff.” He said and before Hermione had a chance to say a word he added, “So you are not doing as well as you think you are if you still need to keep your distance. Do you?”

  “I didn’t say that. What I meant is that––” Her expression said it all. Hermione’s lower lip was being gnawed away while her hands held on to each other tightly. Harry gazed at her intently attempting to guess what it was that startled her so much. Obviously she was about to say something she hadn’t realized she felt or thought about before or didn’t want to admit. Straightening herself, Hermione let out a resigned sigh and met Harry’s gaze as she said. “It’s still painful Harry and a bit scary. I signed autographs! Autographs to Slytherins! To a frightened, ashamed third year Slytherin.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “It broke my heart thinking he could have been my son years from now. I saw how those people looked at Draco. They loathed him. They greeted me like some old movie start but if you had seen their expressions when they recognized him. John Albus is a Malfoy and I can’t–– So yes, you are right but not a hundred percent. I do love what I do. I can’t wait to see the final result once the expansion is finished. I care for this shop very much and I’d be living on my own for the first time!”

  “But you are scared not for you but John Albus and Malfoy.” He said. Hermione nodded.

  “So what you are doing is postponing the inevitable.”  Harry cautioned her. “I can’t imagine Malfoy would settling for a small flat, you working as a shopkeeper and he doing whatever it is he is  or was doing in Muggle London. He is too proud, to full of himself and apparently he is more than ready to go back. George told me that as of this morning Malfoy Manor is no longer under Ministry jurisdiction. Draco Malfoy filed all the papers earlier today.”

   The small bombshell had the effect Harry was looking for. Hermione’s jaw tightened, her eyes opened wide. It was her turn to pace back and forth. “I see.” She said quietly clasping her hands behind her back.

  “No you don’t. He’ll fight you tooth and nail. He’ll bring everything you are afraid of right at your doorstep and what are you going to do when that happens?” He challenged her. 

   “He is not going to take John Albus away from me.” She said without hesitation.

  “Why? Because he loves you? Aren’t you forgetting something?” Harry stood in her way, defiant, about to risk having a massive argument. “He lied to you, he betrayed you.”

  Hermione flashed him an angry glance. Their gazes collided. Harry’s arms hung loosely at his side. Hermione knotted her arms mid chest, biting her lip. The faint sounds of the world outside and the humming of the small refrigerator surrounded them. Harry waited. Hermione bore into his eyes rather than slapping him. At least that’s what Harry felt like as he stood his ground. 

  The wheels in her head were turning furiously. Draco had taken the first step. He’ll make sure that when they were face to face he had the advantage. Hermione was full of questions. Something other than Muggles making puree out of him must have happened if Draco was willing to reclaim his place in the magical world. Where did he go after disappearing again? His mother? The Manor? Friends? 

  “Is there a way to find out if Draco is living at The Manor?”  She asked calmly throwing Harry a dirty look, reminding him how close they were of having an all out argument.

  “Other than knocking on the door? I’m sure it can be done.” Harry was sitting on the corner of the desk, one leg dangling while his right hand manipulated the little ball. The fact that Malfoy had given instructions to the house-elves regarding Hermione and her friends was a fact Harry decided to reveal later. For all he knew the former Death-Eater had changed his mind. He’ll find out personally if it was so.

  “Would you––” 

   Harry stopped her by saying, “I’ll find out as much as I can.”

  “He mentioned having dinner with a Muggle family, the Aislings. His boss apparently. Draco was working cleaning offices”   Harry incredulous expression was almost comical.

  “Malfoy cleaning offices. I’m sorry Hermione but that is––friends with Muggles?” The mental images in Harry’s head made him chuckle.

  Hermione disregarded Harry’s comments. “Why don’t you find out if it is true. I have his mobile number. It’s a start.”

  “You are asking me to play the detective?” He asked amused.

  “This is where you and I have the advantage. Magic and Muggle ingenuity working hand in hand. How hard would it be to trace his number to an address for instance? Or looking for a cleaning company where an Aisling fellow is the manager?” Now it was she who sounded playful. 

  Harry had to agree with her about Muggle ingenuity. It was he who suggested a Muggle tracking device to be implanted on Draco for the duration of the investigation of the charges against him and his mother. Part of the many concessions granted to Narcissa Malfoy. Her son was not to be in confinement, not until the conclusion of his trial. Nor was he going to pay for the cruel manipulations of a deranged wizard such as the impure Tom Riddle. Narcissa, in spite of not being a Death Eater used her knowledge of the inner workings of the outlawed cell to bargain mercilessly on behalf of her son. Six months in Azkaban was all Malfoy had to endured in exchange for valuable information.  Not enough time was the whispered disapproval at the Ministry. Harry thought of Severus Snape and his noble sacrifice. Two women whose sons he willingly swore to protect and by doing so forfeiting his life just as he did when he raised his wand and killed Dumbledore as he promised. Severus Snape had died not in the mist of battle but in quiet anonymity  and it was because of it that Harry vowed to keep Snape’s promise to Narcissa Malfoy Black. Although Harry’s commitment didn’t mean a few hexes here and there  were not allowed when warranted. Apparently Draco Malfoy was in dire need of a few well selected ones. Harry grinned inwardly.

   “Harry?” Hermione’s tone wiped every trace of Harry’s devilish plans off his face. 

    “I don’t want Draco to know we are spying on him. Which means you are not to get near him at all.” She suspected something. Harry feigned innocence.

  “Harry!” She protested planting her hands on her hips, tapping furiously with one foot. 

  He would admit nothing. “It would be  kind of stupid don’t you think? Letting him know you are plotting against him.”

  “I am not plotting against him!” She stomped her foot. “And if anyone is going to hex Draco’s balls to oblivion it’s me. Are you listening to me?!”

  The sound of male voices put a stop to the conversation. “Hermione let’s go!” Mr. Lynch hollered from the front door. 

  Hermione brushed her hands along her pants and her hair walking briskly back to the shop. Harry stayed behind but Hermione came back for him. “Come Harry. Mr. Lynch doesn’t bite”

  “Hermione!”  A very impatient Mr. Lynch screamed.

  “Coming!” She answered dragging Harry with her.

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ 

  Mr. Lynch paid little to not attention to Hermione as she introduced Harry. In no time at all they were inside the empty property. Harry kept his distance and observed with awe Hermione’s transformation. She inspected the property quietly, taking notes on paper as well as mentally. Mr. Lynch asked for her opinion which resulted in the most amazing of responses from the very grouchy man. He actually listened to her! _‘You heard the lady Spence, answer the question’_ or _‘If my manager says it is so, then it is so’._ More astonishing to Harry wasn’t Hermione’s knowledge of how to run the shop but the cheer joy as she envisioned a bigger, friendlier place. It was almost contagious and Harry couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like once it was finished. She did love her job.

  “Make them an offer Spence,” announced Mr. Lynch sounding resigned more than anything else. 

  Hermione let out a squeal and jumped into Mr. Lynch’s arms kissing him soundly on his cheek. “You are not going to be sorry sir. I could––”  

  Mr. Lynch raised his right eyebrow. “Kiss me?” Hermione let go of his neck and stepped back feeling warmth rushed to her cheeks.

  Harry smiled. Mr. Lynch squeezed her Hermione’s shoulder and then proceeded to open the door  as he said. “As soon as the deal is closed braced yourself. It’s going to be quite a ride. If I were you I moved in as soon as you can. Clarence’s cousin, Roy? owns a moving company, I’m sure he’ll give you a good deal. Or maybe your blonde bloke could lend a hand or this gentleman here, what was your name?” He asked Harry.

  “Harry sir,” answered Harry extending his hand. Mr. Lynch took it. 

  “Glad you are here to help” He winked at Hermione, turned around and left.

  Spence Marshall followed suit. Once they were by themselves Hermione hugged Harry. “Oh Harry! Isn’t this just wonderful?”

  “I guess,”  he replied.

   Hermione gave one last look at the abandoned, dusty, dark store and closed the door, making sure it was locked. Taking Harry by the hand she said. “Would you and Ginny come over for supper at my parents?” She was opening The Last Page door as she spoke. “I think I need reinforcements when I tell them the news.”

  The mid-afternoon sun caressed one side of the shop as if some golden, transparent veil wrapped itself around the shelves. The dust particles floating aimlessly reminded Harry of fairy dust. Hermione was standing at the far end on the lighted side. Her face bright, joyous, her eyes shining. Her elation was real, it exuded from every pore in her body. Harry’s sense of loss was just as real and yet he was beginning to understand that it was all part of growing up. He stopped being a child long time ago. In fact he may have never been a child in the true sense of the word. It seemed that for the past few years life had stood still but that’s impossible, life does go on. Taking chances, thinking outside the box, daring to dream, to change, to risk failing it was what moving on meant. Hermione was willing to do it, Ginny was doing the same and so was Ron, kind of. Time to do something about it, least he be left behind. He’ll roll with the punches as he has always done and hope for the best. Although having Hermione back as a full flesh witch was his first priority, Harry decided to wait for the right opening. Ironies of ironies Draco Malfoy would  most likely be his best ally if not the best pawn he’ll have at his disposal.

  “We’ll be there.”  In typical Harry Potter’s fashion, he strolled to the back of the shop with his hands on his pockets and stood in front of his friend. “Thanks Hermione, for a minute there I thought you’d––, well, I was out of line, maybe” He said sheepishly.

  “I am trying Harry. Trying to forget so that you and I can be the best friends we used to be. I guess part of it involves being as truthful as we can so that trust can be restored.” Hermione took his left hand gazing down at her feet, speaking the next words in a mindful, quiet tone. “I must confess I’m a bit scared for Draco and I––I’m terrified actually.” She lifted her gaze allowing Harry a furtive glance into her insecurities and anguish. Her next words warned Harry of  inevitable conflicts laying ahead. “My relationship with Draco is mine to deal with Harry. Unlike your attitude years ago, I’d given you the right to express your opinion and not hold it against you. But he is the man I love, John Albus’s dad, just that fact alone means Draco will forever be part of my life. I know what he did and it hurts but if I have forgiven you I certainly owed the father of my child  the same courtesy. As long as you understand that, we are going in the right direction. Have I made myself clear?”

   “You’ll forgive him? All of it?” Talking  about being persistent and pig headed thought Hermione. 

  “Did you listen to anything I said?” She smacked him over the head. “I’ll forgive him, eventually. It all depends. You want to help me? Find him, follow him and gather as much information as you can but, do not touch him, not one tiny strand of hair or I swear Harry––”

  Harry gave a disgruntled answer. “Okay, okay. Draco Malfoy is all yours.” He rubbed a hand against his nape. “Could’ve hit some other place you know.”

 Hermione gave out a little laugh as she said, “Ginny might hex me if I had.”  

 

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

  **Disclaimer:** **J K Rowling is the creator and sole owner of the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:** **This chapter has not been edited. My apologies in advance**. 

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**Chapter 30: My Will  Be Done.**

Watching the three of them laugh and tease each other while washing dishes ‘the Muggle way’ Candice couldn’t help but feel like an intruder, more like an outsider. Although annoyed at first when Hermione phoned with the news that her friends were coming over for supper; Candice was now grateful for the opportunity to sit back and watch their interaction. Taking her cue from her husband who made a quiet retreat away from the kitchen and positioned himself on the couch, Candice joined him resting her head on his shoulders. John Albus sat on the counter helping his ‘uncle’ Harry dried while Hermione and Ginny took care of the washing and rinsing. The three young wizards had forgotten about the adults in the other room.

  Harry appeared to be more relaxed. During supper he barely weaved two words together on his own. Polite and self-conscious he preferred to talk when spoken to, in short sentences and leave the core of the conversation to Hermione and Ginny.  The mother in her couldn’t help but feel pity and admiration for Harry, in spite of the way Hermione was treated by him.

  Whenever Hermione spoke of him words such as trauma, neglect and abuse sneaked in every other sentence. Having one’s parents murdered in front of your eyes was bad enough and although Hermione was weary of sharing details of Harry’s life it didn’t take much to guess what kind of life it had been when such words were used to describe it. What kind of world had they send Hermione to when orphaned children were abandoned into the hands of relatives with questionable background and vile beliefs, then rescued them only to discard the poor souls once they served their purpose?

    Harry endured eleven years of abuse without as much as a second thought from those who came years later to take him to what was supposed to be a safe and nurturing place like Hogwarts. The Grangers couldn’t have known what their daughter and her friends faced year after year as they battled against the ever-growing power of a dark wizard. Hermione made sure her parents were kept in the dark. A boy, not yet a man was destined to save the wizarding world which apparently he did along with her daughter and Ron Weasley. Once the deed was done what was to happen with those left behind? Who was there to console or mend those broken spirits?

    Apparently no one was there to help these young people get through their traumatic experience. Harry, the hero, the saviour was given a handshake and nothing more. The Grangers were no better than those she so self-righteously judged and it tore Candice apart. Selfishly and using not being magical as an excuse they merrily send Hermione on her way conforming themselves with a letter here and there and shorter and shorter home visits. No inquiries as to why. They failed Hermione as much as the wizarding world had.

  Her husband laughed quietly bringing Candice’s attention to the kitchen. Harry had John Albus upside down secured by his ankles. The same game his grandson played with grandpa. Hermione and Ginny were watching while exchanging a few comments. John Albus giggled as Harry lifted him up and down. Ginny said something, Hermione laughed out loud, and Harry blushed. Hermione turned her gaze to her parents. Following Hermione’s lead, so did Harry and Ginny. John Albus ran out of the kitchen. Smiling softly, Candice wondered if her grandchild ever walked! The three friends exited the kitchen still smiling. Hermione sat on one of the armchairs, Ginny settled on the other and Harry stood behind her. Candice was the first to notice Hermione’s uneasiness. John tensed alongside his wife.

  With her hands primly on her lap Hermione gave her lower lip a last tug and said, “Mum, dad––,” One of her hands played nervously with a lose tendril at the side of her face. “Mr. Lynch is expanding the shop and he has made me manager and he offered the flat upstairs for a very reasonable amount, he increased my wages so I can afford it although we haven’t–– I mean I don’t know how much but he assured me I will be able to move in.”

   Alarmed, Candice looked at her husband. John took her hand in his. “You are moving out. When?” John Granger was the epitome of placidity.

   “Well, I haven’t decided yet. It depends. The sooner the better though. I want to be settled before the work starts. The flat has been empty for while; it needs a bit of cleaning. I can do it after work. I can start packing my room. Once I move I can go to the storage place and bring the rest of the stuff.” Hermione waited in pins and needles for her mother’s objections. Her father as usual kept her guessing.

  Harry and Ginny looked at each other. Both sentient of the restrain Candice was exerting on her emotions. Harry wasn’t sure why they were there or that their being there would help Hermione at all but she had asked for them to come and why wouldn’t they?

  “What are you going to do about John Albus?” Candice asked dejected.

  “He’ll be with me mum but not for long. There is a very small daycare close by. Eloise, the girl in charge is very nice. It will be good for him having to share toys, following a routine and I’ll be just a few steps away.”  It was going to be so hard to go but the more she thought about it the more sense it made.

   “There is no need to hide anymore. You can practice dentistry again. Have your life back.”  She said in a trembling voice.

  “Hermione––”  Candice had picked John Albus who was playing on the floor by her side and held on to him, kissing his blond head.

    “Mum, I’m ready, it’s time. The shop next door is for sale, Mr. Lynch is willing to buy it and I am doing a lot better.” She glanced back at Harry and Ginny. “I have friends. I need to do this.” She said.

   “Hermione, living by yourself is expensive and for a single mother more so. Let us help.” Hermione shook her head at her dad.

   “No dad. I have to do this on my own.” She flashed her dad a confident glance.

   “You can have the gold the Ministry gave us after the war.” Harry said sounding eager.

  Ginny added, “That’s right! It is quite a sum. It’s yours, you earned it.”

  “Money?”  Hermione asked baffled.

   “A thousand galleons, no wait,” Harry perched himself on the armchair. “Each of us was to receive ten thousand. I remember now.”

  “I didn’t know about it. When was that supposed to happen?” Hermione sounded slightly annoyed.

  Harry hesitated for a few seconds before answering. “You were in the hospital and by the time you––” Harry found it hard to continue.

   Ginny came to his rescue in order to avoid a confrontation that would cause another drift between the barely united friends. “The plan was to have this big ceremony with the three of you as the main and only act. Diplomats, government officials, even representatives from the Muggle government would attend, then you got together with Malfoy, the Daily Prophet published those articles, and you know the rest. There was a lot of pressures to just have Harry and Ron present but Harry refused, Ron––you don’t want to know, so they just deposited the gold at Gringotts. Yours is in Harry’s vault.”  

  “I’m surprised they agreed to give me anything at all! Harry why didn’t you tell me?” She asked not angrily, since she had a good idea why.

  “I just told you.” He answered.

   “No, that’s not what I meant. You refused to attend a ceremony in your honour. I know you would never take the gold and that you despise the Ministry but to deny yourself the recognition you more than deserve.” She knew why he had done it and why he chose to keep quiet about it. It was either his two closest friends beside him in that podium or nothing at all.

   “Hermione let’s not. The gold is yours. You can buy the flat if you want to. You can go back to Hogwarts and finish your studies without having to worry about having to work. It is a decent amount of gold and you deserve it more than anyone.”  The opportunity presented itself so he took it.

  Counting back to ten, her favourite strategy to deter her about to overheat temper, Hermione inhaled deeply. “I don’t want their money.”

  “It’s not their money, it is yours Hermione. Besides, shouldn’t you be thinking about John Albus’s future?” Harry stood and faced Hermione ready for a fight.

  She ignored yet again, Harry trying to bait her. “Did you take yours? No you didn’t. No, because it wasn’t about money or personal glory. It was about defending a way of life, what was right.”

  “You are just being stubborn and selfish”  The three other people squirmed a little in their seats. 

  Oh if she could only have her wand! Counting back to ten wasn’t doing the trick and punching the git was out of the question when one was raising a child and one’s parents were already dealing with her unexpected news. Harry wasn’t going to give up it seemed because there it was, his mouth running again.

   “The gold is a token of gratitude. It’s not pay for a job well done that goes without saying. There is no way to repair what you and Ron did for the wizarding world, especially you Hermione. You don’t want the whole lot fine, take what you need give the rest away but don’t give me the “I don’t want or I don’t need’ rubbish! Don’t run away from who you were, who you **are**.

  “Harry.” Ginny rose and took Harry by his arm.

    John Albus stood by his mother glancing back and forth between her and Harry. Harry smiled at the toddler reassuring John Albus he had nothing to fear. Hermione felt the little arms closing around her leg and lifted her son up. Harry said something, which caught her attention, deflecting her anger. Teddy Lupin and the third grade from Slytherin appeared before her eyes. One a war orphan, the other living with the burden of a shameful past, which most likely forever hunt him. Her son’s head rested on her shoulder while his little fingers played with her hair. The wheels in her head were turning.  A seed had been planted. What it might turn out to be only time would tell.

  She sat down, let out a sigh. “As you can see there’s no reason to worry about me.” She said to her parents.

 “Apparently John Albus and I,” She paused and looked at Ginny and Harry “Have stumbled into some money.”

  “Ohh Hermione!” Candice burst out in tears. Hermione was by her side in an instant.

    “Mum, you let me go before and this time I won’t be far. Only a phone call away, a few minutes drive. Please mum!” Hermione cried, John Albus lower lip trembled.

  “We won’t let go this time Hermione. This time you won’t get rid of us so easily. There’ll be phone calls and visits. You might see us more often, count on it.”  John’s eyes sparked with sadness and tenderness. “If this is what you want we are happy. We’ll miss you but we understand.”

  “What about you and mum? You should  take on your practice again. I have money, I can help you.” Hermione wiped her face and smiled.

   “We’ll see.” John said taking Candice into his arms.

   Ginny cleared her throat. “I guess you didn’t need us after all.”

   Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Harry took a couple of steps and offered his hand to help Hermione up. 

   “So, in what kind of pain should I have been? Ever practiced wandless magic? I’m sure you’d be good at it.” His lopsided grin was an olive branch Hermione couldn’t ignore.

    She slapped the back of his head. “Don’t tempt me.”

 ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

Dragging her feet Hermione made her way to her bedroom. The anticipation and stress of having to tell her parents she was moving out left her exhausted. John Albus was fast asleep thanks to Ginny, who with Harry  took over his bath time tiring her son. Hermione prepared his crib and pyjamas disregarding the ruckus coming from the bathroom. Not that she didn’t imagine water all over the place but  Ginny, unlike the ‘boys’ had common sense and her wand.

 

   Without bothering to turn the light on, she opened the door quietly and closed it behind her. A hand came out of nowhere and silenced her scream for a fraction of a second. In the same amount of time, she was unceremoniously turned around and pulled towards a wall of hard muscle. A mouth she was very familiar with plundered hers.  She tried not to respond tightening her lips. She really did try to offer some resistance but to no avail. Draco held her as close to him as it was possible. His arms encircling her body made it impossible to move and the fury festering within her for the past couple days clung to her although not for long. He grabbed her buttocks, parted her legs with his right knee, and entrenched his taut erection between her thighs. In the meantime, his tongue was doing wicked things to her lips, to her teeth; mimicking the blatant grinding Draco was subjecting her to. A throaty moan was her undoing as her mouth opened enough for Draco to barge in tearing down all her defenses.

 

  Caution and righteous anger flew out the window. In a drunken dance of lust, they made their way to her bed while trembling fingers yanked and pulled clothing off. Draco was as  hungry for Hermione as she was for him. They tumbled on the bed in a mass of limbs. His fingers found her center, his mouth her breast. Hermione licked and kissed his face and neck. Her eyes drifted and collided with John Albus’s crib, she gasped.

 

  “Ssshs. All taken care of. You can scream to your heart’s content.” This he said smirking as he entered her and claimed her mouth once more. They both gave out what sounded like a sigh of relief as their bodies fused together.

 

  Draco stilled and withdrew from Hermione but not totally. Hermione writhed and moaned desperate to have all of him. Pushing herself up with the help of her heels, her hips aimed upward forcing Draco’s to imbed himself in her. A guttural sound vibrated in his throat but Draco didn’t give Hermione what she demanded. His elbows sunk by her side. His breath warmed her face. Her breasts brushed against his chest in a sensual motion. Their gazes locked. The past couple of days left their mark and all of it was evident in the turbulent waters of his argent stare and the molten volcano of her brown eyes. Draco kept hearing Maggie’s words of advice. What if he did tell Hermione about his stupid indiscretion? Hermione could sense his struggle and as much as having him inside her clouded all reasonable thought; it was her rage, which kept her from questioning Draco about that woman. It was his truth to tell. It was a test he must pass alone.

 

   Her eyes took stock of his bandaged rib cage. Her right hand weaved itself in his hair falling  at the sides of his face. In a tender gesture she placed her palm on his cheek.

 

  “If you are going to have sex with me I want to see your face. Get rid of that charm.” There was some bitterness in her voice as her fingers delineated his lips sliding slowly down his neck, over his shoulder and along his arm taking his hand in hers as she Accioed his wand saying the incantation exposing the physical evidence of his transgression. 

 

   “I went to the Manor, I saw the blood in your bed, in your clothes. You–– you––” This time it was Hermione devouring his mouth angrily. Draco found himself on his back with Hermione taking control of their coupling. Kneeling, with his engorged member teasing her entrance Hermione took all of him and more if that was possible. Draco caught his breath. He took her neck brought her face down and took her mouth in his. Their arousal was primitive, their craving insatiable. They didn’t last long. Their climax left them speechless, satisfied and too worn out to say much.

 

    It was like this with them. Tempers would flare; words were said in anger and forgotten the minute their bodies encountered each other. For two people who claimed control over their emotions this outpouring of primal lust was a release as much as the expression of their love for each other. Sated, tired after their vigorous copulation whatever energy they had left was employed in mending what needed mending. However, there were a few factors which neither Hermione nor Draco could refrain from noticing. Hermione had rekindled her relationship with her friends. Draco wished to finish his schooling, Hermione wasn’t interested. Draco wanted to go back to the wizarding world; Hermione wasn’t keen with the idea. Draco proposed to her, Hermione said no. He had slept with another woman; Hermione might never pardon a breach in her trust.

 

  After their breathing normalized again, Hermione left the warmth of Draco’s chest and sat by his side facing her son’s crib. Bending down she picked up her clothes and Draco’s wand from the floor placing her clothes on the nightstand. Not bothering to cover her nakedness, a first for Hermione, she made her way to her dresser circumventing the bed. Wand in hand she opened the bottom drawer and proceeded to put an oversized t-shirt on, no underwear. She then, sat on the rocking chair by the window looking at Draco, twirling the wand with her fingers.

 

  Draco was sitting leaning on the headboard observing Hermione closely. They had made love hundreds of times but not like this and certainly not with this outcome. Hermione had never, no matter how angry she was at him, left their bed. Furthermore, silly as it might sound she was not comfortable exposing her naked body after, until now. Should he be worried about his wand in her possession?

 

  “Their father told you.”  He said, adding, “He said he would.” He couldn’t move his legs. When did that happen? How?

 

  “How foolish of Mr. Weasley thinking that I might want to know the father of my child had been injured. Really, why would I be interested in your well being?”  Anger sipped through her tight lips.

 

  “It was none of his business.” He was immobilized from the neck down.

 

  “None of mine either I guess.” The rocking chair was swaying slowly. Save for her eyes as cold as ice her face was the picture of relaxation.

 

  “Aren’t you curious?”  He asked keeping his gaze locked on hers.

 

  Would he tell her what really happened? She asked herself. What if he did? “Should I?” She answered as she continued rocking herself.

 

  “Got pissed with Muggle whiskey, must have said something. I don’t remember much.” Half the truth at least. Hermione had nothing to say.

 

  “Hermione––” He closed his eyes and turned his gaze to the crib nestling his son, Narcissa’s grandson. The Malfoy heir. Pride and arrogance took over.

 

  “I am not hiding anymore. I have my son to think about. Our son.” No conciliatory tone in his words. “No reason not to get married or finish at Hogwarts. You can’t think only about yourself. Not only do I have a son, I have a mother in case you have forgotten.”  

 

  Hermione’s mouth twitched. Her eyebrow rose. Her grip on the wand tightened. “I am moving out this weekend. Mr. Lynch is expanding and offered me the flat upstairs. You are more than welcome to visit John Albus or take him overnight, maybe every other weekend, although I would advise you to wait until you two get to know each other better.” 

 

  “Have you listened to anything I said!?” His ire was in crescendo. “And why would you not let me move?”

 

  “Because I could have done this.” With a flick of her wrist she stripped him of the blanket and transformed the symbol of his manhood into a lonely, yet bright daffodil. “Or maybe this.” Draco squirmed free of the Biding Charm, and felt the sting of what it felt like hundreds of needles attacking his body. “Not all at once mind you.” Her saccharine voice had a chilly undertone.

 

  “I thought it would have been childish of me to physically hurt you. Violence is not the answer you know?”  No, she wasn’t feeling violent at the moment. She was crestfallen and less than hopeful about their future. 

 

  The flower disappeared; the irritating and hurtful poking stopped.  Hermione tossed his wand on the bed. “I did listen.” She answered his angry inquiry. She yanked her underwear from the top drawer and put it on as she continued, “You on the other hand–– You’d rather behave like a bastard, stubborn git, than talk to me. Muggle whiskey,” Facing the window she gave up a derogatory laugh, “You’d rather get pissed than have a conversation. I am not marrying you Draco Malfoy.  I love you. I was sure you loved me too, at least I did. I don’t know anymore.” ‘ _No more tears,’_ she reminded herself.

 

   In quick strides, he came to her side and wrapped his arms around her waist. Hermione felt feathery kisses on her neck making their way to her earlobe as he said huskily. “How could you say that after what just happened between us?”

 

  “Because having sex Draco is not love. That, you can have with anyone. Being in lust is one thing, being in love another.” She couldn’t face him but Draco was having none of that. 

 

   He whirled her around and kissed her. Not out of anger or desire. Out of fear and very much because he loved her. There was no rush as his lips insinuated themselves on top of hers. He was not demanding entrance; he was reassuring them both that what they had was real, worth keeping and fighting for. Hermione’s arms reached his neck losing her fingers in the silkiness of his hair. Like Draco she lingered in his embraced and in the soft caress of his kiss. His hands framed her face. His eyes pierced hers. 

   

   “Look into my eyes and tell me that I don’t love you.” Hermione shook her head stubbornly.

 

  “You want me, but you don’t need me. You don’t trust in me and I––I––”  It took every ounce of self control not to admit what she knew.  “Love is not enough if we keep walls around us.”

 

  Hermione went on, “You used to shut me out but eventually you’d let me in.  It’s different this time.”

 

  “What exactly is it that you want me to say?” He asked. “And why is it that it’s me who has to  anyway? Why can’t you tell me why you won’t even consider finish your seventh year? Or why are you acting as if you and I don’t matter?” His hands held her by the shoulders for a moment and then he walked away from her. 

 

  She spoke of trust or lack of. Everything in their relationship had turned into a murky battle of wills. If she felt so deeply about the tenor of their relationship telling her the truth about his stupid mistake will be their doom. However, who said he couldn’t start all over again? They were very much compatible in bed. That was as good a start as any. They had a son together. No Voldemort and no more war. He was a free man, changed man. Wooing Hermione couldn’t be as hard as it was three years ago. She’ll be his wife, the mother of quite a few little Malfoys and she will go back to the wizarding world and that was that!

 

   Standing by his son’s crib Draco Malfoy’s mercurial gaze sparked with the glint of a mischievous child. A new sense of purpose filled his heart. Slowly he sauntered back to Hermione who was examining him with those inquisitive brown eyes of hers. He pecked her lips, took her by the hand and climbed into bed with her.

 

  “Let’s go to sleep. You are tired after entertaining––them. I had a long day myself.”  Hermione was too worn out to question the sudden change in Draco or his knowledge of Harry’s and Ginny’s visit. He was up to something.

 

  The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart soothed some of her strung out tension. She had missed him. Laying her head on his chest her left hand trailed round paths on his bandages. Her gaze turned to his face. “Who took care of your injuries after you left The Manor?”

 

  “Mrs. Aisling. She’s had practice with broken bones and such.” He readily answered, surprising Hermione. It didn’t escape Hermione the tone in which he referred to his boss’s wife. He cared for the woman.

 

   The arm underneath her rear shifted pulling her closer to him. His hand was caressing the side of her left breast affecting certain parts of her body. Her senses were in high alert. Draco was an expert at diverting her attention. His other hand came on top of her breast teasing her protruding nipple. She quivered, a little but kept an enough clear head to continue with her probing questions.

 

  “You never let on that you were that close to the Aislings. Are you good friends with them, do they know you are a wizard?” Oh God! How was she supposed to concentrate if his fingers were there? 

 

  “No they don’t know.” He was half way on top of her, expertly divesting her of her undergarments. 

 

Hermione thought herself all kinds of fools for wanting him so much it was sheer torture; stupid for not confronting him with the truth of his infidelity. Foolish for keeping hope about the ‘happily after’ she still dream could be possible between them. In spite of it all she couldn’t dismiss what they both had gone through or to what lengths Draco went to prove his love for her. There was no hesitation or regret in his voice as one of the Wizengamot judges challenged him about his relationship with Hermione Granger.  No doubt in his words as he turned his silver eyes toward her as he admitted the truth of his feelings. The struggle throughout their months together was a mixed of coming to terms with the reality of them as a couple and Draco’s inner battle against his former beliefs. Those two facts alone were proof enough for her that they had a chance.

 

    However, there was a limit to what she was willing to accept from Draco. “Draco,” She said as she parted her thighs and granted him access once more. “I am warning you just once. You insult me or treat me as you did on Friday and you and I are through.” 

 

   Their eyes met. Hermione’s gaze bored Draco’s. He was given notice. He’ll heed her warning. 

 

  This time, Draco made sweet, slow love to who in his heart and mind was already his wife. 

 

 


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N:  Many thanks to BrandedFaithfully** **for her amazing help in editing this chapter.**

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

**Chapter 31: Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder.**

  Charlie Weasley cursed out loud at the unwelcome interruption.  He closed his eyes even tighter as the door slammed and furniture tumbled unceremoniously against his bed. A chair whipped right above him crashing against the wall, missing the window by mere centimetres. As this was happening grunts and muffled utterances reached his ears. Charlie swore once more and forced his eyelids to open, barely. He squinted.

  “Get the hell out or shut your mouth,” demanded Charlie through gritted teeth and a raspy voice; the kind one develops after a long night of drinking and partying.

  Ron ignored the underlying threat and shoved the newspaper into Charlie’s slumbering face. His muscles knotted all over and his teeth clenched as he prepared to pummel his brother. Whatever had Ron risking bodily harm must be extraordinary.

  “Have you seen this?” asked Ron almost without breath.

   Charlie’s answer was swift. His massive hand sprang from underneath his pillow, took Ron by the collar of his shirt and shoved the persistent wizard away from him. The annoying git landed on something, the thud and the subsequent moan meant the irritating bastard was out of his sight and probably sprawled on the floor. Good! Back to sleep.

  “You’ve got to see this!” Someone clearly had a death wish.

  “Get the fuck out of my room Ron, I’m warning you!” Wincing again and tightening his eyelids, Charlie placed the pillow over his head.

  “They’ve come back. Look at them! Walking through Hogsmeade holding hands without a care in the world!” Ron’s agitation and fury was obvious in the tone of his voice.

  Even through the pillow, the smell of ink permeated Charlie’s nostrils as the front page of the Daily Prophet rested on his chest. “Ron, for the last time,” came the muffled warning. “Get the fucking bloody hell out of here or I swear I’ll kill you.”  

  Charlie had gone out with his mates; all experts in magical creatures. The culmination of a tough assignment had been the perfect excuse for the Firewhiskey to run as freely as the river passing through the remote village. That in itself wasn’t rare or unexpected. At some point though, Muggle alcoholic beverages were offered and that’s as far as Charlie remembered. Ron had declined the invitation which explained his early morning intrusion. Whatever or whomever he was on about, Charlie couldn’t care less, except––.

  “Are Mum and Dad okay?”  Charlie asked, pushing the pillow aside just enough to squint curiously at his agitated brother.

  Ron stilled his pacing, looking confused. “Yes...what does that have...?”

   “Ginny, Bill, Fleur, George, Percy, okay?” interjected Charlie, still waiting for some bomb to drop.

  “Well, yes, wh––” stumbled Ron frowning at his brother.

  “Then, what are you on about?!!” Charlie launched the pillow as he bolted from his bed and demanded an explanation. He regretted it immediately. The stabbing pain in his head surely meant that his brain matter had imploded within the confinements of his skull. Tiny flashes of light danced in front of him until eventually, Ron came into focus.

   Charlie’s frame wasn’t as impressive as the towering mass of toned muscle that defined his little brother; nevertheless, what he lacked in height he had in strength and a commanding presence, both of which made him a formidable force when enraged–– Ron backed away but not down.

  “Hermione and Malfoy have been spotted at Hogsmeade,” Ron said as Charlie held his head with both hands. Charlie’s bright unfocused blue eyes stared at Ron who sat on the bed and started reading the battered newspaper.

 

  _One of the most notorious couples in the wizarding world has come out of hiding and without shame or remorse strolled through Hogsmeade giving the residents of the small town a most distasteful spectacle.  Hermione Granger, former friend of the Hero of Hogwarts and Saviour of the wizarding world, Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and ex-convict were spotted this past Friday walking hand in hand. Patrons at The Three Broomsticks watched in disgust as the couple caressed, kissed and fed each other a very expensive lunch._

_Hogwarts’ Professor Neville Longbottom happened to be dining there at the same time and had no choice but to escort Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy out in order to protect the young students under his supervision from such a disgusting display. An angry mob surrounded the couple on their way out._

_It has come to our attention that Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy came out of hiding to finish their studies at Hogwarts. Headmistress McGonagall was not available for comment. However, our sources have confirmed that both traitors are the proud owners of one of the newest residences in the village._

 

 Ron stopped reading. In quiet anger he turned the paper into a ball, tightening his fingers around it. 

  Exhaling Charlie made his way to the night table, and opened the small drawer from which he extracted a palm size glass green bottle, uncorked it and gulped down its content. Turning around, his gaze lingered for a few moments on his younger brother. Ron had unfolded the previously crumpled paper, fixing his gaze at the moving picture that accompanied the article. Letting out another sigh Charlie closed his eyes as in prayer, his shoulders dropped. Quietly he lifted the chair from the floor, dragged it close to Ron and sat on it.

  Sympathetic blues eyes collided with another set of equally blue but troubled irises. Ron was simmering with contempt and sorrow. It was bound to happen sooner or later. If Charlie knew anything it was that no matter how far or deep a person hid on this planet, reality would find you and force you to deal with your past sooner or later. He just felt bad that it was happening sooner for his little brother.

  Women trouble Charlie could handle, with an easy humour. Women came and went in his line of work; some lingered longer some were but a vague memory, no attachments, no promises and definitely no regrets. Ron might have been a quick and eager learner not only of magical creatures and how to track, hunt and take care of them but also of the fine of art of finding relief in the arms of a woman without compromising his heart and yet, Charlie knew better. A promise to his beloved and threatening mother stopped Charlie from beating some truths into Ron. _‘Don’t push him, don’t corner him’, ‘he’ll open up soon enough’, ‘maybe he’ll meet a nice girl’_ Every one of the four times he visited The Burrow, each time cajoling Ron to go, it was the same. Their mother would cry while his father took her in his arms. Charlie, was ever so close to forgetting that the idiot brooding on the sofa was his flesh and blood.  What Ron needed was a good, old fashioned kick in the pants. 

   The war, Fred or Hermione were never mentioned between the brothers, at least not on purpose. Random conversations at the pub or during their many treks into the wild would often lead into a discussion on the rise and fall of Voldemort, particularly among those not familiar with the Weasley family’s contribution to it.  Ron couldn’t avoid the questions or the comments when so many in the camp were either English, knew someone involved or was a victim of Voldemort’s reign. In those fleeting moments when Ron thought no one was looking, the mask would fall off and his face would crease with such sorrow that he looked twenty years older. 

  However, this was the first time Ron had spoken so blatantly about Hermione. Charlie understood for the first time that Ron truly wasn’t over Hermione and most likely had never gotten over Fred’s death either. The only way Charlie knew to pull him out of the slump was to treat the news as insignificant.

 “So, they’re back, so what?” Charlie asked challenging his brother.

  Ron gave the moving picture a last glance before answering. “Don’t you care? He’s a Death Eater, I mean he...he...” Ron’s face contorted in rage, “Because of him...Hogwarts...Dumbledore...Fred” Ron’s eyes snapped back to the picture as he half swallowed that last word and Charlie knew his brother’s thoughts weren’t on any of the people he had just mentioned.

  “Hermione...don’t forget Hermione,” Charlie said it as his gaze locked with Ron’s. “Answer my question little brother, so what?”

  Ron’s massive, muscular body rose from the bed as if it were a volcano spewing its hot venom to the innocent below. Charlie looked up at him much like a mother to a child about to start a well rehearsed tantrum. He didn’t even flinch or move as Ron towered over him. If anything he looked amused.

 “They have no right!” Ron growled.

  Charlie lifted his gaze and answered, “I’m not going to argue with you Ron.”  Charlie pushed up out of the chair and stood up confronting Ron. “Fred is dead, buried and so are a whole lot of people, magical or not. Buried, get it?” Charlie jabbed him the chest with a sharp finger.

  “Are you telling me we should forget Fred and why he died?” asked Ron fighting for control over his emotions.

  “Nothing will bring him back but this is not about Fred, is it?” Charlie challenged Ron and continued. “This is about a girl…and not just any girl. Hermione didn’t kill Fred, she didn’t betray us, she said no and because of it you are standing here about to make a fool of yourself again. Go ahead, but...”  Charlie produced his wand indenting it under Ron’s chin, “I am warning you Ronald, Mum and Dad are off-limits. You have a score to settle? Go ahead, do it with the right person.”

  A few seconds passed by as the brothers sized each other up. Charlie could see the fury in his brother’s eyes but he wasn’t done yet. It was now or never.

  “If you had bothered to read her statement during the trial––”  Ron pushed Charlie aside kicking the chair once, twice. Turning around he faced Charlie crimson with rage.

  “The fucking trial where she stood in front of everyone and paraded her love for that scum, coward––?” Ron could barely speak as he added, “I don’t need to read anything! You were not there, I was. I saw them. She lied to me! After everything we went through she dared––”

  Once again Charlie interjected risking the wrath of a very angry, strong wizard. “To fall in love and with a Malfoy. I must admit I never saw that coming. It happens, get over it.”

  Ron gave his brother an incredulous gaze, shaking his head. “Don’t you understand? We are talking about Draco Malfoy! About that bitch shacking up with the most hated wizard in all of England. She is a traitor all right and nothing you say will change that!”

  Whoever said Ron was stubborn had no idea what it meant! This was beyond stubborn, beyond pig-headed, beyond any concept of single-mindedness––Ron redefined the term. This time it was Charlie’s time to shake his head. 

  “Traitor? You’d better look it up in the dictionary. And bitch? Too strong a word...well, maybe not.” Charlie softened his tone. “Ron, you were in love, she wasn’t. You screwed it up and frankly brother I think you either accept you lost the girl, that Fred is dead and that there is nothing you can do about it or––. It’s been three years, enough is enough Ronald.”  

    Ron’s shoulders dropped in defeat, through the corner of his eye Charlie saw the younger wizard lean on the wall by the door. For a while both men kept quiet. Charlie wondered whether or not Ron should hear the whole story, the one Ginny wrote at length in her latest letter. Hermione and little John Albus having tea at The Burrow; Hermione coming to Harry’s aid; Hermione refusing to do any magic and Draco Malfoy–– Draco doing what all Malfoys do, annoy the crap out of everyone. What to do? 

  Charlie pushed aside the remnants of his chair and placed himself in front of his brother; tightening a hand on Ron’s left shoulder. “It’s time to slay the dragon little brother. Go, face it head on, like a man. I can’t and won’t pretend around you anymore. Read the bloody parchments, talk to Harry and Ginny and listen for the first time in your life, listen to them. Time to move on, don’t you think?”

  Ron said and did nothing, apparently lost in thought. Charlie made his way back to his bed, laying on it as his right arm went over his face. 

  After a few moments of silence, Ron spoke. “I’m going to take a couple of days off, if that’s alright with you. Nothing much is going on until Raul comes back.”  Charlie wasn’t fooled by the sated tone.

  Without moving a muscle Charlie said, “Take as long as you want.” As door hinges squeaked, Charlie added in a menacing tone, “Mum and Dad are off-limits Ron and don’t forget to tell Anabella you’re leaving.” 

  Ron snorted, Charlie laughed quietly. Not a nice girl Anabella, a pain in the rear at least as far as Ron was concerned and yet––

  The door closed behind Ron. Charlie lifted his arm turning his head towards the banged up door.  “Oh Merlin, that’s all I need! Let it not be Anabella, not her please!” 

  ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ 

  “So are we going to tell her?” The worried look in Ginny’s face as she glanced at the moving picture confirmed Harry’s fears, it also twisted his insides into an angry knot. The Daily Prophet had done it again and if Hermione knew about it, it would only confirm what she’s been saying all along: she was persona non-grata in the wizarding world and that she and John Albus would have no peace if she decided to come back. How long until they find out about Hermione’s son? Not long. The hounds had picked the scent and they won’t rest until every bit of information was produced, twisted and molded into their own damaging version of the truth.  Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were back in the front page.

  “I honestly don’t know.” He gave Ginny a miserable look. 

  Taking Harry by the hand Ginny dragged him to the nearest chair, sitting on his lap. Rubbing a hand against his nape, her lips brushed against the left side of his face, and slowly, sensually made their way to his mouth. 

 “It’ll be okay, don’t worry.”  Harry found her tongue sparring with his in a delectable dance. He gave in, moaning his approval while feeling Ginny’s smile as she devoured him. Ever since their conversation at The Burrow, the red-headed witch was out to get him, so to speak. Her left hand slid down his chest all the way to that very sensitive part. Through the fabric of his trousers the warmth of her touch made his eyes roll back. Ginny purred like a kitten. And like a cat, with effortless grace straddled him, rubbing against his arousal. If he didn’t stop her he would embarrass himself.

  “Gin––Ginny, oh Merlin!” he groaned.

  “Mmm-hmm,”  was what she managed to utter, it seemed that she too was about to––

  Harry bolted from the chair only avoiding Ginny’s fall by holding on to her arms. “Ginny!”  He screamed in pain. Standing while fully aroused and in the brink of a very powerful orgasm was extremely exacting on one’s body.

  Flushed and as roused as Harry was it took Ginny a few moments to regain a modicum of composure. The sizzling amber in her gaze focused slowly on the wizard standing in front of her, aiming her attention below Harry’s waist. Not recovered yet Ginny leaned on the table, placing her hands, palms down on its surface. Her eyes met Harry’s.

 “Harry,” she said in a somewhat hoarse tone. “If you–– we don’t take care of it, I swear I’ll explode”

  Frustration and anger took hold of the young wizard. “Take care of it” he said in a clipped tone. “Like some animal in heat? I’m sorry but I thought we decided––”

  Her fingers inched their way to the edge of the table where they bent in a tight angered hold interrupting him. “You decided Harry, just like you’ve done from the start of this relationship. No, that’s not true, you’ve made decisions for me even before we got together.”

  “So, this is what, retaliation? Some stupid, childish way of proving a point?”  Grabbing the paper, Harry thrust it at Ginny. “We were talking about this and out of nowhere you––”

  “You know what Harry––” her voice faltered. “I’d better go. My potions are about to be ready and I promised George to help him for a couple of hours.”

   Brushing his hair with his fingers Harry let out a resigned sigh as Ginny left the kitchen. Turning around he ran out. A sound from one of the many sitting rooms of Grimmauld Place, confirmed his girlfriend had not Disapparated yet. Submerged in her own thoughts Ginny was gathering a few parchments lying on the worn out sofa. Harry sneaked from behind and encircled her waist. Swiftly Ginny pivoted on her heels pushing him away. Harry persisted and taking two steps forward pulled her flush against him.

  “Ginny, please, don’t go,” he implored. 

  Turning slowly within the confinement of his arms, the young witch raised her gaze and looked at him; arms at her side turning her fingers into fists Harry would see her fall into the pool of the forest green of his eyes. Like a siren’s enchanting song they called her in. Rather than expose her soul to him again she leaned on his chest, sliding her hand up his chest. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  

  “I want it to be special Gin. And I’m not saying it wasn’t before it’s just––” Ginny recognized something in his tone. She perked up, lifting her head she threw him an ever knowing look. Harry gave her a quizzical gaze in return.

  “Okay, Harry James Potter, out with it.”  All anger had vanished and it was replaced by concerned curiosity.

  Harry appeared flustered. “Out with what?”

  “You want me, see?”  Her hand grabbed and tightened her fingers around the proof of her statement all the while her eyes searched his relentlessly. “You want me but you can’t or won’t make love to me. Why? And, please tell me the truth,” she warned him.

  “I told you––” Harry’s gaze wandered past Ginny but the witch was having none of that. Turning her head she found his eyes and stared back at him.

  Ginny shook her head.  “I know what you told me, but there is more isn’t it? I want you to talk to me. You promised, remember?”  She was onto something, she could feel it and see it. Her hands found his neck, her fingers wiggled their way into his hair. Harry placed his hands on her hips. “Harry, no more lies or half truths. If you can’t talk to me––”

  “It isn’t that! Ginny, sometimes––” Harry turned away from her walking towards the curtained window. One hand in his front pocket, the other, opened the drapes. Leaning on the window frame Harry’s eyes wandered outside.

  Ginny waited. Seconds turned into minutes, a couple, maybe more. Nothing escaped her. From the way his slumped shoulders rested on the window, to the fisted hand inside his trousers, to the way he avoided looking at her. Finally, as if coming to a painful resolution his other hand brushed his untamed hair in typical Harry Potter fashion and he said.  “I miss my Dad. I miss––”

  Ginny sat on the armchair closest to him. Giving Harry enough physical space and at the same time letting him know she was close by, listening. The short sentence was unexpected and out of context, at least from Ginny’s point of view. Sex and parents don’t go together, besides, Harry had never mentioned either of his parents to her, at least not with such pain and longing. 

   “Sirius was as close a dad as I ever had,” Ginny could see the small, sad smile on Harry. “Merlin knows what he might’ve said if I told him about ––”

  This time his silence lasted but a few seconds. “Then again, talking to Dad about us, I mean––a father wouldn’t just tell you how to––Still it would have been nice to tell them about you.”

  Ginny hesitated, wondered what to do or say. Harry was struggling with whatever it was he was trying to say. His chest filled itself with air, he held on and let it all out with a big sigh. The mid-afternoon sun managed to sneak through the window. The light from outside and the dimness inside collided giving the people and objects inside the gloomy room a two-dimensional blackened configuration, like paper silhouettes on a miniature paper house.

   Couldn’t he just get on with it? Ginny’s impatience was growing. She acknowledged it was one of her shortcomings, (the reason, maybe?) why having a conversation with Harry was an art in itself. Whereas she blurted whatever was on her mind, Harry was the opposite. He could yell and curse like the best of them, rant and rave but it was as far as he’d go. _‘A man thing’_ she once heard her Mum mutter under her breath. Harry was a man, he also learned early on in life to guard his feelings, his desires, his dreams. The girl she was years ago wouldn’t have come to that conclusion; the woman she longed to be was slowly but surely learning not only to love her man but to stop and think before pinning him into a corner, to read his silences, his pauses, the myriad of emotions swirling in his eyes. Ginny winced in the inside. She had wasted precious opportunities because of her lack of patience.

   Ginny pushed out of her seat and with soft steps made her way to the window, sitting on the edge, facing Harry who kept his gaze away from hers. “Harry, forget about––you know, sex. Talk to me, please! Whatever it is, I’ll listen if that’s all you want. I promise I won’t say a word.”

  She embraced him, he returned the gesture holding on to her as close to him as it was possible. His warm and steady breath grazed her temple, his words hushed, hesitant. “When we––” He swallowed and went on. “The first time, I –– I didn’t know, I mean, I hurt you. I wanted you so badly and never thought it would be, well––”

  Harry waited, maybe expecting an adamant dismissal from Ginny. It did hurt but compare to what he made her feel, to what they shared no matter how awkward, it was worth everything to her. Then again she could have said something but how was she supposed to know? Ginny said nothing; instead she kissed his chest, encouraging him to continue. She closed her eyes, picturing his hesitation and embarrassment at the recollection of their first time and if she were to be frank about it, Harry was on to something when he reviewed their previous intimate trysts. Lust, hormones, confusion and loneliness and not a whole lot of experience from either side painted those passionate and extremely clumsy rendezvous.

  “I saw your tears and––” Harry took Ginny by the shoulders and pushed her gently away from him. Taking her chin with his index finger he lifted her face submerging himself in her eyes. He saw perplexity and understanding, Ginny saw his determination and conflict as he exposed his doubts to her. “There was blood and I never asked you if you were okay. You didn’t talk about it and I ignored it. In fact I don’t think you ever––. Ron knows how to, you know, get them to––”

   “Have an orgasm,” Ginny finished for him. Her smile reached her eyes first, they sparkled, light burst out from them. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. With his face still in her hands Ginny silenced his protests with the tip on her index finger on his lips. 

  “Harry, that was then, this is now. I never talked about it because I knew what to expect. It hurt and there was some blood and I cried but do you know why?”  Harry shook his head.

  “Because it was you. I was with the man I loved and that’s all that mattered to me.” She beamed at him.

  Harry couldn’t reciprocate. Ginny noticed his uncertainty. 

  “Tell me Harry, I won’t judge or make fun of you. I want us to be able to say anything to each other. Don’t you see? This is the first time we talked about us.”  It wasn’t easy for Ginny to hide her joy at this breakthrough or to calmly wait for Harry to speak his mind. 

   “I feel like the most––” Anger took hold of him as he distanced himself from Ginny only this time his girlfriend cut his withdrawal short by planting herself in front of him.

  Hands on her hips Ginny said. “If you don’t tell me what’s bothering you, what you want or need Harry how am I supposed to understand?”

  What she saw in his eyes scared her. It was turmoil and fear. Harry brushed his hair with his hand. Not a good sign. She prayed to every deity she could think of before attempting to breach his defenses. Sex was not longer at the heart of the conversation. 

  Harry’s gaze collided with Ginny’s. She wasn’t irritated, she was determined and in spite of the tenor of his last words or the fists by his side, Ginny’s features revealed nothing. One of his fists managed to allow his fingers to come out and once again raked his hair, lingering there for a few seconds as if remembering the promise he made. Rather than reaching for Ginny, she noticed how he opted for placing his hand in his pockets.

  “I feel like I’m against a wall.” His eyes bore into her as if searching for a reason to stop. Instead, she hoped the look she gave in return was encouragement to continue. Ginny took a few steps in his direction, her gaze never leaving his. Harry continued.

  “It’s like if I don’t make love to you, if I don’t go back to Hogwarts, if I don’t become this fucking person you all want me to be, if I don’t accept Hermione’s decision not to come back!––” He managed not to yell but his breathing was labored. 

   Ginny said and did nothing for a few moments. Feeling somewhere between defeated and profoundly violent at the moment she proceeded to sit on the couch. She could speak her mind, but actually, what she felt like doing was shaking him senseless. Or she could sit and wait for more of the same pitiful excuses. She lifted her head and glanced at the wizard with messy hair and a furious stare.

  “I can say with certainty because I have ridden one, that this conversation feels like a bloody rollercoaster ride.” Rising from the colorless couch she faced Harry who appeared to understand the emotions on her face.

  “Let’s tackled the first issue. If I made you feel like you had to make love to me to prove how much you love me, I apologize. I understand now that we are not ready. I tend to let my emotions get the best of me. So, that’s no longer a problem.”  She crossed her arms over her chest, Harry imitated her. “But, when it happens and it will,” Ginny smirked, “Rest assured, you and I are going to tell each other the what, how and where and believe me my love I plan on having and giving you as many orgasms as is humanly possible.”

  Harry swallowed soundly while some other parts of his anatomy expressed its opinion. Ginny diverted her attention for a split second to said member and smiled before continuing. “No one can replace your Mum or Dad and I can’t imagine what you must feel like without them but you do have friends, you have Hermione, and in case you have forgotten, you still have me.” 

  Ginny couldn’t help herself and caressed his face, Harry settled his hand on top of hers. “I want you to be happy, Harry. Are you?” she asked. Harry avoided her gaze. “Forgive me Harry, I know I said I wasn’t going to be judgmental but if you don’t want to finish your seventh year at Hogwarts, if you avoid friends or hide within the ruins of your parents home or this very depressing place, if you are so angry that you need to throw hexes at walls, then, what am I supposed to think? Don’t do anything because of me or Hermione or your parents.  Do it for yourself. What do you want to do?”

   “I don’t know, really I don’t,” he answered softly.

  “Well, why don’t you start by fixing up your homes? Merlin knows they need it.”  Ginny sounded hesitant. “A shower every day wouldn’t hurt either. Some exercise, eating regularly, sleeping eight to ten hours. Helping me with my potions.” She shook her head, “Forget that, Hermione’s much better.”

  “Anything else?” Harry took her by the waist. 

  “I’ll think of something.” The faint strands of jade in his eyes sparkled.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he said, seemingly in awe of what they had accomplished.

   “You don’t need to say anything Harry.”  His mouth found hers, determined, taking what it wanted.   It was as if his resolve to become the man, the wizard he was meant to be, had finally found its way to his heart. 

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

** Disclaimer: ** **J K Rowling is the creator and owner of the Harry Potter books.**

**A/N:** **Thanks to _Indie_ for editing this chapter. Glad you are back! **

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**Chapter 32: Growing Pains**

Fourteen days felt more like forty years to the man bludgeoning the piece of metal in front of him. He still wasn’t sure if it had all been a dream. One minute he was holding his son in his arms, next he was making love to Hermione throwing caution to the wind, elated and full of purpose, and in a blink of an eye his dreams had gone up in smoke. It all had gone awfully wrong from then on, and now, he had no idea how to set everything to rights. 

    “Fuck!”  The wrench flew out of his hand in a fit of rage while his face contorted in pain. Draco’s index finger had been, once again, the victim of his clumsiness.

   “Time for a break, don’t you think?” Nicky Aisling strolled in, all smiles and mischievous glint. True to what Draco now referred to as the Aisling females ‘modus operandi’ she displayed no surprise or censure to the fact that he was in Con’s garage without asking permission or that he left without a word or a proper thank you two days ago. 

  The hand that was about to reach for his wand stopped and dropped by his side, rubbing the injured finger on his grease-stained trousers. Nicky examined Draco, more like looked through him, past the bruises on his face. Her gorgeous face tilted to one side as someone trying to make head and tails of a modern painting. Those mesmerizing eyes, the ones all Aisling girls could boast about, darted all around Draco. Realizing he had allowed Nicky to see more than he wanted, he turned around and walked over to the spot where the wrench had landed. He picked it up and placed it back in the toolbox. Without glancing back at Nicky who sat on the worktable, right beside the engine Draco was working on, the wizard picked up the book Nick had given him. Nicky took it from him forcing his face to confront hers. Nicky smiled again while going through the pages without paying much attention to them as she spoke.

   “Mum left instructions to feed, clean and clothe you before you left.” 

   Draco did and said nothing. Silence was never a deterrent for any of the Aisling females, therefore, Nicky added, “It seems you are making a speedy recovery, aren’t you? You bend over quite easily.” She offered the book back to Draco. He took it angrily from her but she wasn’t done, oh no, Aisling girls had something to say at all times, and he was stupid enough to listen. 

  “I guess things are not going well with Hermione.”  Stating the obvious was also part of their charm.

  “I once heard Mum tell one of her boys, the best way to woo a girl was through the mother.”  Jumping down to the concrete floor, Nicky took Draco by the shoulders and turned him around, pushing him toward the exit. As if under some spell Draco found his feet were obediently going one after the other as indicated by the interfering woman. “Okay, little brother, I’m all yours today. We eat, you shower, get yourself presentable and off we go.”

  Walking side by side, clutching the book in his hand, Draco said through greeted teeth. “I’m not your brother.”

  “We always wanted one, you know.” Of course she disregarded his comment! “Loads of boys have come through our house at some point or another; we adopted them all.” She gave him one of those searing, weird glances. “There is something about you though. You are kind of cute in your oh so angsty kind of way and thanks to you, Suzy has someone else other than the rest of us to pester.  You are what, eighteen, nineteen?”

  And again as if he had no will of his own, instead of going the opposite way, not only did he follow Nicky, but he answered as they entered the small house. “I’m twenty one!”  Eighteen! A boy! Who the hell did she think she was! Her mother!

  Nicky washed her hands in the sink, dried them and then sat at the table taking one of the sandwiches left by her mother and took a mouthful nodding at Draco to help himself to one. She then poured herself and Draco a glass of juice rolling her eyes at the stubborn man refusing to sit.

  “Okay, this is the way I see it,” Nicky said as she leaned on the chair turning her undivided and penetrating gaze to Draco. “You either listen to what I have to say, or keep on smashing your fingers to a pulp and lose the girl.”

  Draco turned on his heels ready to leave. “You aren’t angry anymore. You are scared and confused and not sure if you want to stay and give in or fight for what you think is right for the three of you. And don’t forget that pesky indiscretion.” 

  Draco stood still while his back suddenly stiffened. Nothing in his features revealed the impact her words had on him. The hands at his side flexed until he couldn’t do anything else but turned them into fists. Even though he wasn’t looking at her, Draco could feel Nicky’s probing eyes dissecting him. How could she know? 

  “Don’t make too much of what I said. You are stubborn and proud which means you are a stupid man.” The eldest of the Aisling girls had gone around the very small table, plate in hand and offered it to Draco. 

  For a few seconds both stood in front of each other, Draco in shock, Nicky expectant. Eventually she broke the silence. “Well, take it! Eat! I have the car today.” Draco found the plate in his hand and Nicky going back to her seat talking in that most annoying matter of fact tone. “You are going to her house and have a good talk with her parents, especially her mother. You are going to be very nice.”  Now she sounded like her mother. “If you have nothing pleasant to say, keep your mouth shut but first, apologize,” Draco smirked, Nicky gave him a scolding gaze and added, “are you going to deny that you need to apologize to her parents too?”

  He was hungry, ravenous actually, so he ate, ignoring Nicky while his mind attempted to explain her insightful words. Leaning to his right and pretending to scratch an imaginary itch he took his wand from the hidden pocket he had created on the side of his thigh. After the last bite and a sip of juice, he met Nicky’s gaze, this time it was him doing the probing. Nicky winced. Her right hand massaged her right temple. Draco straightened himself, smirking triumphantly. For once he had the upper hand although he didn’t manage to read much into the persistent woman’s mind. There was a boyfriend and her parents didn’t know about him and most importantly, she wasn’t a witch which left him wondering. What kind of Muggles were the Aislings? How much did they know about him? Why did he keep coming back? How could she possibly know what he was thinking? 

  Nicky glanced at Draco frowning, although her attention appeared to be geared toward something other than him. No bloody way she could have known he had used Legilimency. He tried to be as gentle and focused as he could, avoiding prying too much. He needed to confirm she was no witch or something else. He learned what he already knew; she was a Muggle, a very interesting Muggle. He admitted she had a point regarding Hermione’s parents although he’d never acknowledge it. Nor would he confess that talking, not apologizing, to the Grangers was what he was planning to do.

  Shaking her head, Nicky gave Draco one last glance before pushing her seat as she rose from it. “Help me put these away, would you?”

  Draco crossed his arms, defiant. She turned around and said, “Listen to me, Draco Malfoy. The bad boy attitude has never worked in this house. Get your ass off the chair, and help me clean up. Mum has done more for you than you deserve and, by God, you are going to return the favour, first by cleaning this kitchen and second by getting your sorry life straightened out, so help me!”

  Soon after, Draco found himself on the floor, after the angry girl had turned his chair forward effortlessly. “Grab that kitchen towel. I’ll wash, you dry.” Nicky was already at the sink washing the plates and cups left piled up after a rushed breakfast.

   Water ran freely as Nicky lathered, rinsed and Draco obediently dried. Her words and the recrimination in them resonated within him. Muggles or not, he felt honour-bound to the Aislings.

  “I shall never forget what Mrs. Aisling or your father have done for me.”  His words were met with bitter silence. “I’m indebted to your family for as long as I live. Mrs. Aisling will never regret her generosity toward me; I swear on everything I hold dear, I give you my word.”

  No words were spoken for a few seconds until Nicky turned off the faucet. “Go, get showered. We better get going soon.”

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

  “You need a haircut.” Nicky drove like a maniac and Draco loved it.

  “No, I don’t,” Draco responded.

 “I’ll wait in the car.” Nicky said.

 “No, you will not!” Draco almost screamed. 

 “Mum would like to know what happened. So I’m staying for as long as I need,” she replied coldly. 

   His jaw tightened as he flashed a murderous glance at the obnoxious young woman. Nicky returned the favour. 

  “It could take hours,” he said.

  “Is she going to be there?” she asked.

   “No, she’s still at the bookshop,” he answered.

  “Then, I won’t be waiting long.” The certainty in her tone irritated him even more.

  “My son will be there, I might take him to the park for a while.” He doubted it but one could only hope.

  “Right.” Nicky stopped the car a few meters away from the Grangers home. “Hermione isn’t home. They won’t allow you to take that boy anywhere without her say so.”

  “He is my son, I have every right-” Nicky put a stop to his rant.

  “You want them back with you, don’t you?” Nicky brushed her silky, amber hair back and went on, “Stop behaving like a spoiled child and start acting like a man! God you are so- I could smack you!”

   Draco gave Nicky his best ‘got you’ smirk. Somehow it felt normal sparring with Nicky, as if- as if they were brother and sister. Now, where did that come from?

  “I promise I’ll stop by your parents’ house,” he said as he opened the door.

  “I’ll wait.”  No use arguing so Draco got out, took in a deep breath and dragged his feet toward Hermione’s home.

   “Hope they make you sweat bullets, little brother.”  Draco pretended he didn’t hear her.

 ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ 

  Is what Hermione, his mother and Maggie Aisling would want and it was, Merlin help him, the right thing to do. He had to apologize. Draco couldn’t believe he actually felt the rightness of his decision, despite Nicky’s intervention. The road to redemption alluded to by the Auror back in Azkaban was indeed steep, treacherous and most inconvenient to one’s ego. His heart pounded quickly and furiously in his chest. He gave the car parked but a few meters away a last glance; Nicky bent over and gave a thumbs up.  He waited but a few seconds for the door to open after he rang the bell. Candice gasped and attempted to close the door on his face, but he was faster and stronger.

  “Mrs. Granger-” A small round face peeked from behind Candice’s legs. Draco smiled.

  “Hey, son, how are you?” Hunched on his legs Draco opened his arms but John Albus wasn’t as receptive as a few days ago, although the toddler did come out, toy dinosaur in tow, to greet the blond man.

  Draco’s tiny version of himself locked his grey eyes with his, pondering, it seemed, what to do next. Having come to a decision John Albus climbed on his father’s thigh and made his way around Draco’s neck, tiny legs hanging on his father’s upper body. His grandmother watched in horror and fury as Draco made his way inside. She closed the door and called her husband, disguising her panic. John Albus and Draco walked about the tiny living-dining room touching this and that in the ceiling. John Albus’s giggles sounded out of place.

  John Sr. entered the room and stopped in his tracks, glancing at his wife. Draco acknowledged his presence with a nod. Remembering the box of toys Draco made his way toward it and deposited his son on the floor. In a matter of minutes John Albus was emptying the box at his father’s request. Draco engaged the little boy for a few minutes longer, aware that the other adults had taken a seat on the couch. Kissing his son’s brow Draco stood up, took two steps and said,

  “I’m aware my conduct on Friday was unbecoming-” He swallowed and stole a glance at his son. “I apologize.”

  Candice almost bolted from her seat, John took hold of her wrist but she wasn’t deterred by her husband. 

 “You apologize. What exactly are you asking forgiveness for, Mr. Malfoy?” John Albus turned his attention to the adults in the room. Candice forced her lips into a reassuring smile.

   “I’m not asking for-” Draco stood behind the armchair.

   “Oh, but you are, sir. You insulted and threatened my daughter, a woman you claim to love, the mother of your child, a woman who fought side by side with Harry Potter against your master.” Her icy remarks, the way her brown eyes cut through Draco twisted something inside until shame spilled out. But Candice wasn’t finished with him. “You, sir, owe my daughter and us much more than a self-serving apology. You owe Hermione and your son-”

   So Hermione told them. Draco’s rage and guilt poured out without warning. They knew who he was. _Who he used to be,_ Draco shook his head and corrected himself. His narrowed argent gaze glided to all those present and, the instant it focused on his son, his heart stopped, his lungs collapsed, the memories of the past few days surrounded him.

  Draco sat on the armchair taking his head on his hands. John and Candice returned to their seats. John Albus was making his way toward the kitchen. Candice stood up and hurried toward her grandson. Few words were exchanged between Candice and the toddler. Entering the living room Candice slowed her steps, pausing right behind Draco whose eyes searched for his son. John Albus left his cookie, the one Candice had given him, on the coffee table and rushed to his toys. The dinosaur Harry gave him made its way to the coffee table as well as a few other little playthings. Draco’s lips upturned sadly at the sight of his child playing while glancing wearily to the adults looking at him. The little boy picked up his cookie, took a bite, and offered the rest to his father. Draco accepted it and bit into it while at the same time gathering the courage and restrain he needed.

 “Thank you,” he murmured.

  “Welcome,” answered John Albus automatically as his attention returned to his toys.

  Clasping his hands but with his arms still on top of his knees Draco lifted his gaze and faced John and Candice. He sighed inwardly.

  “I love Hermione-” Candice shook her head dismissing his statement, interrupting his line of thought. Draco expected John to add something but what he got in return was the older man’s gaze fixated on him. Draco continued on. “I used to be a Death Eater,” he clarified sternly and went on, “Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger together wasn’t supposed to happen. Ever.”

   As if in need of comfort and courage, Draco unclasped his hands and reached for John Albus’s curls, caressing them. “It did.” He continued gazing past the couple, lost in his recollection of the events of three years ago and beyond. “Death Eater, bigot, criminal; call me what you want but she loves me and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Draco let out a self-deprecating laugh as the memories crawled back into his consciousness. “It was a blanket, you know? She put the rag around my shoulders and left. It was like a dream; sometimes, I wonder if it truly happened.” His voice was soft, tender, devoid of the hard edges and anger the Grangers remembered.

  “At first it was pity. Hermione can be so annoyingly kind. She was kind to me. To me, Draco Malfoy,” he said as if Hermione’s actions were the most bizarre thing he’d ever encountered.  He sounded as perplexed as if it had just come to pass. His grey, almost transparent eyes returned their attention back to his son, his hand glided through John Albus’s curls tenderly once more. John and Candice glanced at each other. Candice’s fury was pretty much intact. John, on the other hand, wondered for how long Draco would grant them access not only to his past but to the vulnerable side of him.

  Taking his wife’s hand in his, John closed his fingers tightly on hers sending a message. They had to listen and gather as much information as possible before making any decisions or coming to any conclusions. Candice didn’t return the gesture; she was seething with rage.

  “Don’t you think we both fought against it?” Draco was looking directly at Hermione’s parents. “Hermione was losing her mind trying to find an answer for us.” Draco laughed, shaking his head amused at the memories. “Us, as if it were a disease. I...I couldn’t bring myself to let her go.” His features became rigid. “I knew they would never accept me, that she’d be ostracized, ridiculed because of me. That, they did, and with a vengeance.”

  Draco’s whole demeanor changed. His aristocratic features sharpened, the grey in his eyes appeared thunderous, his posture that of a prince on his throne. Candice’s voice reached him with as much venom as when she first spoke to him.

   “And selfish coward that you are you brought her down with you!” She spat. John squeezed her hand while his eyes were fixed on the father of his grandson.

  Draco rose instantly turning around on his heels. Standing behind the armchair he clung both hands to the head rest, holding on to it for dear life.

  “We have a son, the Malfoy heir. We can’t go back and change the past. I’m not what you accused me of anymore.”  

  “You lying scum!” Candice’s words came in a murmur. “You threatened my daughter, you called her a whore and then-” She nodded at Draco, “Look at you! We know where those bruises come from you, you-”

  Turning her face to her husband she said, “John, if you don’t do something, I will.” The hatred and threatening tone in her voice chilled the whole room.

  John Albus provided the distraction necessary when he made his way to his grandmother and climbed on her lap, leaning against her. “He is tired, I’ll get his bath ready,” she told her husband and left the room hurriedly with her grandson in her arms.

  Draco watched his son being taken away from him as the anger and frustration he had tried so hard to keep under control took hold of him. His head snapped back to the man sitting on the sofa. John Granger stared at him and waited. For a couple of seconds their eyes sparred and delved into each other’s souls.

  “Hermione left before I was sentenced, did she tell you that?”  Apologies and forgiveness were no longer Draco’s priority. Despondent, he thought it was a lost cause. Hermione’s parents, her mother in particular, had judged and sentenced him, which brought Candice’s last words to mind. A sense of foreboding engulfed him all of a sudden. He dismissed it, for the time being.

  “I didn’t know she was pregnant.” Draco’s hands knotted together in an attempt to channel his fury and anger not at Hermione’s past actions but at her recent conduct. 

  “When I found them my first impulse was to let her know I was alive but I-” Pride stopped him from admitting to John what he did to Hermione. Yet, now more than ever he acknowledged what Maggie and Nicky had said about the need to come to an understanding, frail as it might be, between Hermione’s parents and himself. The image of his mother clutching the picture against her chest appeared before his eyes. 

  “What you think of me, what I used to be, is irrelevant.  The fact remains, Hermione and I are in love and we have a son and, like it or not, that makes John Albus a Malfoy.”  Keeping a cool head was more work than he anticipated. He should have waited to talk to Hermione first but to what end! She wasn’t listening! She was pulling one way and he the other. 

 “Why are you here, Mr. Malfoy?” John asked in a soft, tranquil tone. His handsome features revealed nothing, not so his dusky irises. Draco saw the challenge in them. John Granger expected an answer but not just any answer. Draco thought of the words he uttered in rage a few days ago, of Hermione’s incredulous pain and tear filled eyes and of his treacherous actions with another woman. His right hand’s fingers splayed on his left purplish cheek. He and Hermione were an anathema and yet, he knew better. They had overcome their prejudices, pride and hatred once. Why couldn’t they do it again? How would he be able to hold on to Hermione? Holding John’s gaze, Draco made a decision, one that tore him apart because it meant relinquishing control and risk losing the only woman he’d ever loved.

  “I came here to tell you that I know my word means nothing to you, that I lost the right to demand anything from Hermione. In time and if she’ll take me back, when I next ask your daughter’s hand in marriage there’ll be no doubt about my love for her.” Draco lifted himself from the armchair, tall and proud and very much disheartened now that understanding suddenly made him realize the path that laid ahead. “Hermione has nothing to fear from me.”

  John rose locking gazes with Draco. The sounds of his son splashing water reached him. He couldn’t help himself and turned around glancing sadly at the corridor leading to the bathroom. As he was about to walk out, the doorbell rang. Draco’s heart skipped a beat, remembering Nicky was waiting for him. 

  John opened the door and sure enough there was Nicky. “Has Draco managed to get himself killed yet?”  Draco hung his head, closing his eyes, praying for restrain. “Sorry, forgot my manners, I’m Nicky Aisling and you are Mr. Granger I presume?”

  Draco sighed and walked toward the opened door where Nicky stood shaking the hand of an amused and intrigued John Granger. “Mum is worried and frankly so was I.” Aware of Draco’s presence she almost launched herself at him. “Hey, you are in one piece!” She then said to John, “I wouldn’t blame you if you added a few more shiners on his face, I mean, Mr. Congeniality he ain’t, if you know what I mean. Did he behave? I mean, he apologized, I hope?”

  “Nicky!” Draco more or less growled at her. Thankfully John stepped aside so that he could grab the about soon to be dead girl and run out before she embarrassed him more.

  “I thought I could meet your son,” Nicky said. “We are dying to meet him, and Hermione of course,” she said to John.

  “I’m afraid he is having his bath.” John was all smiles while Draco was somber and eager to leave but Nicky wasn’t done yet, no of course she wasn’t.

  “Our little Draco, a father! We just learned about John Albus, what, only this Saturday! Draco is a man of few words.” Draco pinched her on the side, she muffled a scream and glanced at him annoyed. “You are friends again, I see. My work is done and Mum is buzzing me again.” She took the phone from her purse and pressed a button.

  “We better get going. You must be about to have dinner and so are we.”  She took John’s hand in hers and shook it vigorously. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Granger. I’m glad it all worked out.”

  Taking Draco by the hand they climbed down the steps. She turned and waived back at John. Draco opened the car door without a word or looking back at the small house.

  John stood by the door watching the small automobile fade into the distance, not sure what to think.

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   Inside the car, Draco waited until all murderous thoughts evaporated from his mind and then he said, “Do you think every thing is a joke?” No longer wanting to kill her but to throttle her Draco glared at her. 

  Nicky frowned, her mouth was a thin line and the glint in her eyes disappeared. “What happened?” she asked stealing a worried glance at Draco. “Why do you look-? Draco, what did he say?”

  “He said very little,” Draco answered in such dejected, soft voice Nicky could barely understand what he said.

  “But they accepted your apology, didn’t they? Otherwise why would he be smiling?” Her question brought a smile to Draco’s face, relaxing a little the tension in his body.

  “Maybe because he had no choice,” he answered nodding his head at Nicky with a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  Nicky kept quiet for a moment. “All is not lost.”

  “It might be, once I tell her the truth,” he said leaning against the seat, glancing out the window.

  “You won’t know until you talk to her, Draco.” Her tone held some encouragement. “Better hearing it from you than someone else.”

  He didn’t respond and the rest of their ride was done in silence.

  “We are home.” Draco let out a tired sigh. He opened the door and waited for Nicky to walk with him. Before Nicky unlocked the door she placed a hand on his arm while her soft chocolate eyes let him know she truly meant what she was about to say. “You are not alone, Draco, and you are doing the right thing. It’ll work out in the end, you’ll see.”

  The door opened, Nicky went in. Draco’s gaze met the pavement as Nicky’s last words echoed within him and when he lifted his gaze, there was Maggie extending her arms and without hesitation Draco tore down his walls and embraced her.


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: J K Rowling, Bloomsbury and Warners Brothers are the owners of the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N: This chapter has not been edited. I've given up looking for a beta**. 

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  **Chapter 33: Regrets, Remorse And A Good Breakfast.**

Open mouthed, the young man peeked through the window in awe, and not sure if the scene unfolding before his eyes was taking place at all. There had been many deceptions, lies, cover ups and heart stopping surprises in his twenty years but this––this he wouldn’t have believed unless he had seen it with his own eyes. The conversation in the garage, well, that was definitely surreal. The visit to the Grangers, he didn’t see that coming either. They couldn’t be Muggles, could they?  Otherwise why would he be sitting at the dinner table with them?  Or why would anyone want to share a meal with him? Former Death Eaters maybe? Veelas? Merlin! Those were stunningly beautiful girls! Harry shook his head. There had to be a logical explanation for all it.

  Finding Nicholas Aisling wasn’t much of a challenge since, as Hermione pointed out, he had the advantage of having magic and Muggle resources at his disposal. What he wasn’t counting on was to find Draco so soon. After he left Ginny at her brother’s shop, an owl was waiting for him at Grimmauld’s Place with the address of one Nicholas Aisling, owner of a cleaning company. Having nothing else to do, Harry decided to take a quick look. Using his father’s invisibility cloak and Ginny’s Muggle map of London, he found the place and approached what he thought to be an empty house.  Most Muggles would be at work and the children at school. It was lunch time and the street was almost empty, the houses dark and quiet. The Aisling family lived in a working class neighbourhood in a tiny home. At first he just walked up and down the sidewalk, looking for a good place to hide and watch the movements of its occupants. There were but a few trees and none in front of the house, so he decided to wait under the cloak by one of the corners of the Aisling’s residence. After a while, and to his amazement, one of the most gorgeous girls he’d ever seen came out of the house muttering under her breath. He followed her and the first of many surprises developed in front of his eyes, followed by yet another as Draco climbed into a car with the Muggle girl, forcing Harry to get a hold on his broom and trail them to the Granger’s place and now there he was, wide eyed, watching Draco Malfoy partake of a family meal surrounded by four beautiful girls, with a dotting Molly-like mama scolding him _, scolding him!_ because of something he said to the youngest of the girls. Harry decided he had seen enough. 

  The question was, what to make of it? He caught bits and pieces of Draco’s conversation with Nicky and even less at the Grangers place. Who was the real Draco? The Draco he listened to over the phone on Friday as he threatened and humiliated Hermione, or the one who looked at John Albus as only a loving and caring father would?  Harry concluded that a few more days of observation were needed. If Hermione asked, he would tell her enough of the truth, but not all of it. Draco was a Slytherin, a former Death Eater and a son of bitch regardless of what he witnessed that afternoon. Who were the Aislings? They obviously were more to Draco than he let on and those girls, well! Hermione would have something to say about her boyfriend hanging around such beauties, not that Harry blamed Draco. Glancing back at the small kitchen and finding his gaze lingering on the four Aislings siblings, Harry declared his surveillance finish, at least for now.

  Once on his broom, high above ground, Harry closed his eyes and basked in the freedom and peace he always found flying. It had been a good day!  A silly grin engulfed his features. He couldn’t wait for Hermione to meet the Aislings.

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    As she closed the shop and ambled back to the office, Hermione realized that it had been an ordinary day at work. That is to say, no owls on her window with heart wrenching letters, no confrontations with old friends or clandestine encounters with a lover. Hermione dropped on the couch with a sigh.  While having a day such as this one, after two weeks of never knowing what to expect, had given her time to relax and think, Draco’s visit to her parents the day before unsettled her. Her mother had a mouthful to say and none of it good. Candice didn’t believe in Draco’s apology. Her mother had made up her mind about Draco the minute he stepped into their home that fateful Friday afternoon and nothing short of a miracle would dissuade her from changing her mind about him.

  Hermione would have expected anything from Draco but an apology to her parents. It was so unlike him to do so! Her father paraphrased Draco’s last words to her, keeping his opinion to himself as to what Draco meant by them. She, on the other hand, couldn’t help but dissect them time and time again, which left her with an uneasy feeling. Of course there was Nicky. This time her father’s opinion was written all over his face. The slyly teasing gaze and the wide smile as he described Nicky as a pretty girl with a bubbly disposition aggravated Hermione. Draco forgot to mention a few important facts about Mr. and Mrs. Aisling. Nicky drove Draco to her parents’ house, waited for him and, to Hermione’s amazement, it seemed the Aislings knew about her existence and more about Draco’s life than acquaintances would. Who and what were the Aislings to Draco? 

  Hermione closed her eyes and sighed once again. Pushing herself up, she grabbed a pail which contained a few cleaning items and dragged herself to the back door, locked it and climbed up the stairs leading to the flat. Exhausted and not really looking forward to face the mess of the empty flat, Hermione fumbled with the keys until she found the right one. She prepared her nostrils for the unpleasant odors of the closed environment and splayed her fingers on the wall on her right hand side searching for the light switch. The yellowish light she anticipated turned out to be a soft white one, right above her. Hermione gasped. It wasn’t what she expected. The flat was spotless. Walls freshly painted in a light beige colour, the wooden floors had been sanded and varnished and the windows were crystal clear, spotless. Dropping the pail she stepped in turning around to take it all in. She stopped. Standing on the small counter which divided the kitchen from the rest of the room, two vases filled with roses, daffodils, Forget-me-nots, orchids and a few others she couldn’t name greeted her. Tears gathered in her eyes as she mentally thanked Mr. Lynch for his generosity. Slowly she made her way to the flowers; in between the  two vases there lay an envelope. With trembling fingers she picked it up as her face leaned on the flowers. She breathed in the sweet aromas, closing her eyes, allowing two tears to escape.

  Her heart summersaulted in her chest as her gaze landed on the writing on the card.

   _We need to talk. I’ll pick you up tomorrow around 7:30 at your parents’ place. Go home and rest._

_Draco_

Her ordinary day turned out to be not so ordinary after all.

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He had been pacing for more than an hour, attempting some sort of control over his raw emotions. He could see The Burrow from the vantage point of the small hill he Apparated to at the crack of dawn. Looking at it, nostalgia and grief tugged within him. The same crooked, odd looking house and yet, so much had happened he couldn’t find it in his heart to feel the longing for its embrace he used to before his life and that of his parents were shattered by the war. He sighed as his feet interrupted their march. He was a day late which added to his already precarious emotional state and he had to thank Anabella for it. The woman’s sole purpose in life was to antagonize him. 

  Tired and hungry, Ron took in a deep breath and decided that he was ready to face his family. He remembered Charlie’s threat regarding their parents and couldn’t help but feel some shame and regret for the way he had treated them. Charlie was right; it wasn’t his parents who pierced his heart and shattered his dreams. Hermione. He stilled. From the inside of his robe he produced the article from the Daily Prophet, carefully folded in quarters. Concluding that taking a last look at the picture would add fuel to his already inflamed temper, Ron returned it to the inside of his robe.

  In brisk, long steps Ron marched toward his home. In a matter of minutes he was standing at the front door. He raised his hand to knock and, shaking his head he determined it was foolish to do so; it was his home after all.  He let himself in, closing the door behind him. Ron allowed his gaze to take in the sight, and the smells. Someone was in the kitchen, most likely Mum. She was humming an old tune he recalled from his childhood. Were Ginny and Dad home? He’d rather talk to his mum alone. It was safer. Ginny had no patience and his father would admonished him without uttering a word which made him feel guilty and annoyed at the same time.

  Quietly, he sat on one of the couches, clasping his hands, while his gaze travelled around the room as he thought that it might have been better to go and see Harry first. Funny how the mind works, Ron thought. He came back to England not for a family visit and yet, the first place he thought of was home. What was he expecting to gain by talking to his mother? Was it what Charlie implied when he threatened him? _‘Mum and Dad are off-limits.’_ It felt like a challenge; it bothered and shamed him that Charlie felt the need to warn him off his parents. What had become of him when his siblings felt the need to protect his parents against their own son?

  “Ron?” Molly’s eager and hesitant voice cut into his thoughts. “Ron, dear, I––”  She fumbled with her words; with small steps she made her way to the ancient couch. “I wasn’t expecting–– What a nice surprise!” But Ron saw the trepidation in her eyes. 

   He got to his feet, “Hi Mum.” He gave her a small smile and then walked into her arms. She smelled so good! So right! Pulling his head down she kissed him repeatedly and after, she kept his face in her hands and gazed at him with curiosity.

   “Is something the matter? Charlie!” She put her hand on her mouth. “What’s happened to Charlie? Ron don’t lie to me! You wouldn’t come in person if nothing is the matter.”

   Ron took his mother’s hand in his and looked at her with tenderness, shaking his head. “Charlie is fine Mum, I just––Well, I––”

   He motioned for her to sit. Molly did but the anxiety in her gaze was still evident. “Charlie is okay Mum, I swear.” Ron placed one massive hand on top of hers.

   He noticed her quiet demeanor. Something had changed in their relationship and Ron noticed it for the first time. No longer did his mother badger him with questions or shove food down his throat or fuss about everything and anything as she would with the rest of her children. He had kept her at a distance, hurt her with his accusatory silence and sporadic visits, accused her without actually saying the words, of taking Hermione’s side.

   “Mum.” He inched closer as he gazed down at their intertwined hands. “I came because of this.”

  Pulling the article out from his inner pocket, he handed it to Molly, who took it. “Read it,” he said softly.

  Molly unfolded the crumpled paper and started to read. Ron had no difficulty reading her emotions. She frowned, tightened her lips and after she finished it was obvious that those printed words displeased her immensely. Lifting her gaze, she hid nothing from Ron. She was furious but no words came out of her mouth. Her restraint irked him and made him wonder. Was she angry Hermione was back or at The Daily Prophet for printing the article? The answer to either question would set the tenor of their conversation.

  “I wasn’t aware Hermione was forbidden from coming back.” Molly threw a dirty look at the paper she was strangling with her hand. 

  Ron had the answer to his question. Heat spread throughout his body. He was on his feet fisting his hands. Glancing at his mother he imagined a deeper, wider abysm between them. Molly pushed herself up and place her hands inside her apron’s pockets, abandoning the piece of paper on the couch.

  “I can’t speak for Hermione or Draco.” Although weary as she addressed him, Ron saw the conviction in her irises. “What they don’t say is that she is not coming back. She despises our world. She lives as a Muggle and wants nothing to do with magic. You won Ron. You and the wizarding world took away from her everything that she once was, even the recognition she deserves.”

  He opened his mouth to retaliate but his mother shook her head, denying him. “What else do you want from her son? When are you going to get over her, over Fred?” She sounded tired. “Hate and grief are like chains, Ron. The longer you cling to them the more their poison hardens your heart until you forget what is good and worth living for, keeping you locked away, prisoner to them. Soon there won’t be room in your life for forgiveness or worse, love.”

  She approached him with tears in her eyes, took his face in her hands and said, “I love you Ron as much as I did the day you were born, maybe more. You are my son and I am proud of you but dear, dear Ronald, I’m begging you, let go of this.” She glanced at his chest with scorn and disgust, placing her hand on top of his heart. “This creature eating you from the inside out. I want my Ronald back. I buried a son, I watched friends died and I can’t watch you––” Choking on her words she leaned her head on his chest and cried quietly.

  “What I want is––” He fought for composure. “I don’t know.” He conceded dropping his arms by his side and turning away from his mother. Silence stretched a few seconds, more than it was warranted. He, whose mouth would run ahead of his brain, had learned to guard his feelings well. There was so much he wanted to shout and cry and rant about that he might do some serious damage to himself if he did. 

   “There are days, when I closed my eyes and wished it had never happened. As long as I live I shall never be complete again. My son is gone. Good friends too.” Molly sniffed. Ron faced his mother, who was sitting on the couch again, wiping the tears from her face. She met his gaze.

  “I don’t ask why anymore and I stopped blaming the heavens for taking my son away from me. I’m grateful for the time I had with Fred. Time is the greatest healer you know, but what saved me, Ron, were you, my family. I was alive but wasn’t living. At the beginning it was the little things. My family needed to eat so every day I came down to the kitchen and fixed breakfast and went back to bed.”  Ron sat beside her. “Then got up again to fix supper. My poor George was locked in his room. I’d sit with him without saying a word. There were clothes to mend, errands to run, chores to take care of and I did, only it wasn’t me. It was as if I was under a spell. I could see and touch but it felt foreign. I couldn’t abandon my children and my husband. Arthur was barely keeping it together. I had no will to live but I loved you.”  

  Mesmerized by his mother’s words Ron waited with bated breath for her next ones. His hand cradled hers, his eyes encouraged her. She obliged. “One day, I was in the kitchen preparing breakfast when light came out of nowhere, I wasn’t aware it was dark outside when all of a sudden the skies opened up and the sun came out. I looked at it, for the first time in weeks I noticed the sun! It felt wonderful!” For a second, Ron could’ve have sworn that same sun shone in her eyes. “The veil lifted and I could see colours. Life had been going on around me and I didn’t see it. Ginny was at the shop, day in and day out and I barely noticed. My Arthur was rebuilding our world and I wasn’t there to encourage him. George was withering away and I let him! Fred was alive in all of you and like a fool I was letting him slip away. The pain of losing your brother will never go away but...There is no better way to honour his memory Ron than to live as he would. His death, like so many others, had a purpose and it was to give back to us the reigns of our lives. Accept your brother’s gift son. Aren’t you tired of clinging to the past when there is so much life ahead of you? 

   Mother and son locked gazes. Ron embraced her, closing his eyes. He had been so selfish, such a bastard! She was right, he was tired; actually, exhausted would be a better word. Exhausted of the rage within him, of the memories, of not being able to come home and bask in the love he could always count on, no matter how much he’d hurt them all. His heart slammed against his chest, his eyes fought the tears he wasn’t ready to shed and to his utter amazement a calmness, tenuous as it was, he hadn’t felt in a long time wrapped itself around him. Opening his eyes, he pushed his mother away from him and took her by the shoulders.

  “I...I need to see her Mum,” he said hesitantly. 

   “I think you are right, you two should talk. Are you willing to listen this time?” she asked with a hint of admonishment in her voice. Surprisingly he accepted it. 

  “Before you do I have to tell you something.” Molly avoided his gaze clutching her hands nervously. Ron snapped to attention, dreading what he might hear.

  “Ginny and Harry...well, you better talk to them first before you see Hermione.” She paused and then blurted out, “Hermione and I had tea in Muggle London and Saturday she came to visit.” 

   There was more, Ron could feel it. His mother’s guarded expression told him so. Should he be worried? The news of Hermione visit took a back sit as he stared at his mother. She kept her eyes away from him. He smiled inwardly while his heart shrunk a little. She was afraid of his reaction and he was ashamed she felt that way. He missed his mum so very much! He should have been there for her, instead––

  “Mum,” he whispered tenderly. She lifted her gaze. “I’m starving! If I don’t eat something I’m going to faint.” 

  Molly’s eyes widened. Her features irrupted with joy as the tension left her body. She bolted from the couch, almost running to the kitchen.

  “I’ll have your breakfast ready in a few minutes dear. Sausages and bacon are ready. I’ll get the eggs on the pan. Your dad and your sister were in such a rush...Tomatoes! I have a few––” Her voice faded as the door to the kitchen closed behind her.

  He had come back to England to settle the score with Hermione and he will...he might, but... His mother’s recollection of those painful months after Fred’s death, made him wonder, question the reason for coming back to home Something stirred within him at the same time that Charlie’s question echoed in his head. _‘So what?’_ his brother asked about Hermione’s return. Ron was starting to ask himself the same question.  


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer: J K Rowling is the creator of the Harry Potter series**

**A/N: This chapter has not been edited.  **

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**Chapter 34: Maybe This Time…**

   The early sun showered everything with gold. All colours were accentuated, everything looked shaper. The air crisp and clean. Blue horizon and the promise of another good day. Not a common occurrence in a city known for its grey skies and constant rain. It had been years since he could say, and mean it, that it was indeed, a good day.

  His footfalls took him to the room across the hall. Dragging a chair, Harry sat on it and sipped from his cup of tea, he was hungry but too lazy to bother fixing breakfast, not even with magic. His gaze landed on the moving picture. Shaking his head he frowned and sighed.

  Hermione shouldn’t be in the dark about the blasted article. She had the right to know and he could use it to his advantage. A crooked smile adorned his face, relishing in the opportunity it gave him. His eyes reverted back to the newspaper, Harry’s lips gave up the smile and replaced it with a tightening of his mouth and a narrowing of his eyes. On the other hand, it would confirm Hermione’s fears and misgivings about a world she no longer felt part of. He could take it upon himself to demand a retraction from the paper;  he was after all, Harry Potter, Saviour _par excellence_ and by Merlin he’d made sure they listen to him! But, no, no if Hermione wasn’t on board…He knew she should know that it was, at least from his point of view, a reason to go back and clear her name. He also acknowledged that if Hermione made public her distaste for the Daily Prophet’s detrimental and bias article, it would leave her and John Albus vulnerable, exposed. Harry stood up, taking the empty cup with him adding it to the small pile of dirty dishes crowding the sink.

  “I’ll clean it before I leave,” he said to no one.

   As he climbed the stairs to his bedroom Harry weighed his options.  If he called Hermione on her way to work, she’d worry, if he asked to see her after work, she’d worry. She’d worry no matter what. His best option was to drop by the shop during her lunch break. Reaching the top, he made for the knob of his bedroom door when a sound at the bottom of the stairs caught his attention. 

  “Ron!”  Harry ran down the stairs as soon as he realized who it was.

  “Harry.”  Ron waved his hand sheepishly. 

   “This is a surprise. Is ––,”  Harry was interrupted by a smiling Ron.

  “Charlie is fine. Mum asked me the same question.”  Ron said looking hesitant as to what to do next.

  “Are you hungry? I haven’t prepared breakfast, too lazy,” Harry said as he made his way to the kitchen. Ron followed him.

  “I had breakfast at home. Harry,” Ron paused, “we need to talk.”

   Leaning against the kitchen counter Harry studied his friend’s features. Ron sat on the same chair Harry did before. Ron was calm and collected even though Harry suspected the reason why he sat at his kitchen table. Ginny wrote to Charlie, Bill had tea on Saturday during Hermione’s visit and, there was the damn article. The subject of Hermione Granger irritated Ron at the best of times or provoked a rage so out of control one’d better keep a prudent distance. But Ron wasn’t acting as Harry anticipated. His large hands rested on the table clasped together, his eyes darted back and forth between the different fixtures in the now cleaned and recently painted kitchen and when his gaze landed on Harry, it wasn’t an accusatory or furious look. Odd, very odd, thought Harry.  

  “I agree,” Harry said as he took a seat on the chair to Ron’s right, “we do.”

  Ron took Harry’s silence as his turn to start. He produced the article from The Daily Prophet which he placed on the table and slid toward Harry. 

  “I’ve read it already.” Harry said.

  “And?” Ron inquired tightening his intertwined hands.

  “They spelled their names correctly, that’s something.” Harry’s hands made it to the table’s surface mimicking Ron’s gesture. “Other than that, it’s the same unfounded, bias rubbish they are known for.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ron asked not without a hint of annoyance.

  “When I last saw you I had no idea where Hermione was,” Harry answered. 

  “But you do now and I had to learn about it through a newspaper article!”  Ron said raising his voice.

  “I haven’t lied or hid anything from you Ron. If anyone did it was you.”  Harry coated his accusation with a bit of disappointment. 

  Ron’s frown deepened, as his perplexed azure gaze locked with his best mate’s verdant eyes.  His friend, Harry observed, had no idea what he was talking about and it really bothered him that Ron thought so little about hiding Hermione’s parchments. Had he read the last one he would have left no stone unturned until Hermione was found. Had he known Hermione was pregnant, had he read her testimony––He dismissed those futile regrets. He was Ron’s and Hermione’s best friend. He wasn’t going to choose one over the other, not this time. But first, Ron owed him an explanation.

  “Before she left, she owled us, remember? Ginny found the parchments in your room. You hid them in the Vanishing Cabinet.” He could have gone on but settled for a more slow approach. 

  Ron’s gaze dropped. Seconds ticked by and so Harry waited, anticipating vehement denial and righteous indignation. He wasn’t angry at Ron, well, maybe just a little. When Ginny first told him about Hermione’s letters some part of him wished she had never found them while the other felt sad and let down by Ron. After the shock had worn off he read them eagerly and his disappointment at Ron turned into pity and regret. It saddened Harry thinking about Ron those months after the war. In love but  incapable of dealing with his feelings toward Hermione while at the same time mourning the loss of his brother. In hindsight, he should have warned Ron about Hermione’s frustration with her would-be boyfriend or maybe forced them to talk rather than venting their frustration with him.  Nevertheless, Ron had to answer for this and his other disgraceful actions. 

  “Two of those parchments were for me and you never told me.”   Harry said in an even, controlled tone. 

   Without looking at Harry, Ron took the worn out piece of paper in his hands. “I wasn’t thinking.”  Ron said softly, staring into the moving picture. “I––I meant to let you know where I hid them but forgot, I did Harry, I forgot.”  He lamented meeting his friend gaze.

   “You lied to me Ron. She wrote them to me. You had no right. Why Ron? What were you trying to accomplish? You hated that her that much?”  Harry had been focusing on the article Ron kept looking at as he challenged his friend. 

  Ron abandoned the article on the table and pushed the chair away as he rose. Hands in his pockets, he dared look at Harry. Ron’s gaze skimmed and settled but for a second on the paper and swiftly grabbed it and returned it to the inside of his robe.

  “I don’t hate her,”  Ron said.

   Harry shook his head. “Your actions say otherwise. You did everything in your power to hurt and humiliate her as much as possible. She left because of it,” he said dryly.

  Ron’s imposing figure shrunk. His pale irises glistened with guilt. Harry wanted, needed Ron to answer. No matter that he had forgiven him already. His friend’s face said it all. Ron was scrambling for words.   

  “I lost it Harry. I’m sorry about those parchments and I’m glad Ginny found them and that you read them.” Harry kept quiet while his eyes bore into Ron’s. “I––I––”

  Ron threaded his fingers in his hair. Harry stood up and took Ron by the shoulders. “Why did you come back Ron?” Harry asked concerned.

  Ron took his seat again taking his head in his hands. “I need to see her.”

  “She is gone Ron, she wants nothing to do with us. She and magic are through. You’ve got what you wanted, you chased her away.”  The censure in Harry’s voice wasn’t lost to Ron who lowered his gaze briefly.

  “Mum told me. In fact, you two said almost the same thing.” Ron’s tone softened as he continued. “I don’t feel like a winner. I lied to you, I behaved like,” Ron paused to let out a self-deprecating small laugh, “like the loser that I am.” 

  Harry watched as his friend’s features strained with anger.  “Merlin’s beard Harry! I loved her and to see her in his arms, to watch her come between him and me and shout for all the world to hear that she loved him! Draco fucking Malfoy! I–– I just couldn’t––”

  Ron took his head in his hands lacing his fingers on his hair. Harry sat beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “And I didn’t do anything to stop you because I was as angry and confused as you were. I was a mess Ron, we were all going through–– Merlin knows! Just a few days ago I tried to–– Well, lets just say I did something really stupid.”

  Ron looked at Harry frowning. Harry nodded. Ron’s eyes widened with alarm. “Harry! You––why?”

  “It’s over, doesn’t matter now. Hermione came to the rescue, again. We talked, clear a few things, cried––”  Harry hesitated a few moments. “Ron, I won’t stand by while you hurt her again.”

  Harry rose to his feet and proceeded to prepare more tea. Ron watched in silence. Harry lathered some soap and washed two cups which he rinsed and dried in a matter of seconds, placed them on the table with tea bags on each, followed by the jar containing sugar. Milk and honey arrived immediately after, as well as a loaf of bread. Rather than sitting Harry opted for leaning on the counter by the cooker crossing his arms over his chest. Ron rested his back against the back of the chair. Harry noticed there were no traces of the anger Ron displayed a few minutes ago. 

  “If she is gone as you said, what were they doing at Hogsmeade?”  Ron asked ignoring Harry’s warning. 

  “I think Malfoy had plans of his own when he took her there. There are things you don’t know about Hermione and Malfoy.”  Until he was sure about Ron’s intentions Harry preferred to say as little as possible. “You saw the article and rushed back home to confront Hermione again. It’s over Ron. There is very little you can do or say to change what has happened. She is my friend. I let her down when she needed me the most. It’s not that I am choosing her over you. You are my friends, my brother and my sister.”

  Both wizards measured each other up. The kettle complained loudly, startling the men. Harry took it and poured water into the cups. Sitting down, he spooned some honey and watched it dripped into the amber infusion. In silent companionship both wizards attended to their tea. As he stirred his tea Ron was the first to speak.

  “Hermione and I need to talk Harry. I won’t––I mean––It’s true watching them together––well––.”  Ron gave out a big sigh. “Mum and Charlie said some things. Mum told me about having tea with Hermione in Muggle London and Hermione coming to The Burrow.”

   Ron’s expression changed into one of concern as he added. “There is more isn’t there? Something about Hermione you don’t want to tell me.”

  Harry brushed the rebellious strands of his hair in nervous movements. Hermione’s life away from the wizarding world would soon be under scrutiny, the last thing she needed was Ron exacerbating an already difficult situation. Harry examined his friend’s expression, what he saw confounded him. Ron was worried. About Hermione?

  “I’m going to ask you again Ron. What do you want from Hermione?”  Harry asked, more like demanded.

  “Just talk Harry.” Ron fidgeted nervously on his chair. “She is okay isn’t she? I mean she is not sick or dying or something, is she?”

  Harry grinned relieved. There was hope. A chance for the three of them. “No, she is fine. The same know-it-all as we remember. Why would you think she is sick?”

  Ron let out a sigh of relief, Harry couldn’t help but smile again at the sight of it. “Mum insisted that I talk to you and Ginny first. I know she was hiding something and so are you Harry. Is it that bad? Mum had tea with her and then she came to The Burrow, but you’re saying she is done with us, no magic!” Ron looked like he couldn’t believe it. “If she despises us so much why talk to Ginny or Mum or come back at all?”

  “Because she is Hermione Granger.” Harry replied.

  Ron contracted his brows glaring at Harry. “What kind of answer is that?”

  “The only one I can give you.”  Harry answered. Dragging his chair closer to the table Harry stare into Ron’s eyes as he said, “If you want to talk to her, I won’t stop you. I think you two owe each other an explanation. That is if she even lets you open your mouth. It’s her decision Ron.”

  Harry leaned back on his chair. Ron imitated him, crossed his arms over his chest and stayed silent for a few seconds digesting Harry’s words. “You are okay with Malfoy and Hermione together then?”

  “No. He’s still the same sodding bastard he’s always been.” Harry regretted what he said. Ron’s face turned red in a fraction of a second. Remarkably his response was the opposite of what Harry expected.

  “Nice to know some things are still the same.” Ron’s jaw tightened. Harry marvelled at his friend’s struggle for control over his emotions. “How can you stand watching them together?” Ron asked through clenched teeth.

  “Because they aren’t together.”  Ron’s chair made a scraping sound as its occupant snapped to attention. “But the picture. They were holding hands! It says they bought a house together!”

  “That’s why I don’t read newspapers. That article is rubbish. Yes, they were at Hogsmeade, yes they had lunch at the Three Broomsticks and yes he bought a house but–” Harry got up and emptied the remains of his tea on the sink. “I have to go Ron. Hermione doesn’t know about the article and I think she should.”

  “Harry, what’s going on?”  Absentmindedly Ron cleared the rest of the table. Harry wiped his hands dry with the dish towel and turned his gaze toward Ron, who stood by the sink waiting for an answer.

  “Come with me. You wait outside. I’ll talk to her first. I doubt she’ll want to see you. If she refuses––”  Harry didn’t complete the sentence but made his way to the stairs climbing  two steps at the time. His voice reached Ron who stood on the landing of the staircase with a troubled expression on his face.

  “Harry!” Ron shouted. Harry came back, shirtless and expectant. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t a meaningless phrase. It held a much deeper meaning that only two friends, such as the two wizards staring at each other could comprehend. 

  Harry nodded accepting his apology. “I know you are Ron.”


	35. Chapter 35

** Disclaimer: ** **J K Rowling is the creator and owner of the Harry Potter series.**

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**Chapter 35. It’s Raining Men, Help!**

A date with Draco Malfoy, the father of her child. Their second date.  Hogsmeade ended up being a disaster, would this one have the same outcome? The couple browsing through the Home Renovations section smiled at her, she returned the gesture. She’d give them five more minutes and then approach them. In the meantime, her Fiction collection was a mess and her computer was having a tantrum. A date! She laughed inside. She had sex with the man three days ago! Twice in one night! Three if one counted the quick tumble at dawn. Which would make it two days ago and not three if she wanted to be precise. Know-it-all Hermione Granger couldn’t get enough of the Prince of Slytherin, the two-face, cheating bastard! Yet, Draco could be kind, charming and loving when he wanted to. Her heart softened a little. The flat looked wonderful and John Albus’s room was gorgeous! She shook her head and commanded those thoughts to go take a hike and give room to the pragmatic, analytical side of her brain. What was Draco up to?

   Hermione strolled toward the shelves in need of straightening and proceeded to organize the books in a mechanical fashion while questions and troubled presentiments crowded her thoughts. Draco made it abundantly clear he would settle for nothing else but marriage and their return to the wizarding world and yet, he fixes her flat? Flowers? He apologized! To her parents? _‘In time and if she’ll take me back’._ He felt guilty because of that woman; that’s the reason behind his odd behaviour and his oh so amazing generosity in bed. The tingling, moist sensation between her legs soon followed the perking up of her breasts. She bit her lip and shook her whole body. Apparently the blood flow to her brain had been compromised. And they say that men are always thinking with ‘their other head’, but women were just as bad. He flicks his wrist and she is all Ooh! and Aah! That’s so sweet! No! His hands roamed another woman’s body, his lips kissed, pleasured the bitch and...then... Hermione stamped her feet angrily. What’s the matter with her! The bronze bell hanging over the door chimed. The handsome couple had left. Thank you, Draco! 

  She looked up to the heavens as if she might find the answer to her questions, let out an angry sigh and stared at the cover of the book she was holding. A romance novel’s cover ––with the ever muscled, long haired, handsome heroe about to ravish the just as gorgeous damsel in distress—reminded her even more of the blonde, sharp- tongued and not so handsome man in her life. No need to deny it. Draco was in her heart to stay even if she’d send him away. And if he told her the truth about his infidelity...What then? Would she be able to make love to him without comparing herself to the other woman?  Draco, for all his selfishness had been a very generous lover, even before they became intimate he sought to please her in that decadent way he had of rousing her senses without even touching her. Their last time together she had become that woman tossing aside every trace of her prudish, self-conscious self. She had flaunted her nakedness; she had voiced what she wanted and how she wanted it while at the same time she’d truly, thoroughly ravished him. She had given and taken and demanded more as if trying to erase every trace of Draco’s lover from his body and he obliged. Why wouldn’t he? He was a man and she pleased him like a seductress would. Draco hadn’t mentioned marriage, or the house ‘they’ bought in Hogsmeade, or Hogwarts. John Albus and her future at the shop had come up and so had the gold at Gringotts. Hermione mentioned the reward the Ministry had given her and all Draco had to say about the shop or the gold was: nothing. She’d expected some smart remark, a put down but, no, he’d kissed her brow and that was that.    

  “Hermione Granger?”  Jumping on her spot Hermione turned abruptly to the direction of the deep, rich and very masculine voice. Her eyes opened wide and then landed on the cover of the book she was holding. Another double take to the man in front of her and the man on the cover. Dear Lord! Those men do exist! She blinked rapidly; it didn’t work, he was still there, smiling. And what a smile that was!

  “Are you Hermione Granger?”  Gorgeous Man asked stepping in closer.

  “Are you for real?” Hermione blurted out wincing. Her right hand, the one holding the book sealed her lips. Gorgeous Man frowned but, his blue cobalt eyes expressed amusement at her outburst. Hermione felt warmth rushing to her face. The book was still on top of her lips as she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that, I was looking at the––” She hid the book behind her back. Words were having a hard time coming out in a sentence. 

  “Sebastian Dorgan at your service even if you aren’t Hermione Granger.” He took her hand in his and left it there while his eyes, those deep blue eyes of his, x-rayed her from head to toe and then settled on her face. 

  “Oh, but I am!” She sounded like an eager, star-struck teenager. “I mean, I’m Hermione Granger.” His fingers slid away from her but the heat they emanated, lingered a few seconds longer.

  Sebastian Dorgan was sensuality encased in a body only the dead could ignore and Hermione had blood running through her veins and eyes, twenty-twenty vision, and those brown orbs of hers were finding it hard not to stare at him. He was a big hunk of man! His hair was black, charcoal was a better description. The silky shoulder length strands fell lazily over his very handsome face. He brushed the wayward locks of hair behind his ear. The muscles on his arm bunched up; he must be one of those gym crazed men, all overgrown muscles and little brain. Perfect straight nose, thick eyelashes. Even the faint stubble adorning his features suited him and his skin...maybe he was one of those idiots who lay under those lamps or coloured their skin and pretended they lived somewhere else. Sunlight in England was an elusive luxury. He was wearing beige linen trousers, a pair of very expensive light brown loafers and a white, also linen, shirt, which hugged his torso so tight there was no need to guess what lied under it: hard as rock biceps.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting but Jeremiah insisted that this was the best time.” He smiled again, that lazy, sensual smile of his and Hermione found herself swallowing dry. This wasn’t happening. Her plate was full, her life in turmoil and all because of men: her son, Draco, _‘the cheating bastard you were just lusting for a minute ago’_ , Harry, even her father and now Adonis here, all muscles, and sex appeal and gorgeous hair and deep blue eyes and...

  “Mr. Lynch?” Thank God! Her brain was working. “He sent you here?”  Adonis gave her one of his mocking glances. She wiped her hands on her skirt, fixed her messy ponytail and took a step back colliding with the shelf behind her. 

  “He didn’t call, did he?” Did Adonis ever not smile? It was most disturbing. “He said you are expanding. I’m an architect, you need one.”

  “You are the architect?”  She asked not totally convinced beauty and brains could mix. Sebastian laughed, amused, as if he knew what she was thinking. 

   “Are you okay, Hermione?”  No, she wasn’t, and who gave him permission to address her by her Christian name? 

  “I’m fine thank you, Mr. Dorgan,”  she answered primly. 

  “Sebastian, if you please.”  His eyes grinned at her and she more or less ran behind the counter. Her hands started playing with papers, stacking them, mixing them, anything to keep her busy and regain her composure.

  Sebastian glanced around, assessing, she guessed, what he had to work with. He strolled back to the entrance and gazed out the window. From one of his trousers’ pockets he took what, to Hermione, looked like a Blackberry and started writing on it. She drank from her water bottle. Biting her bottom lip she wondered what her reaction to Adonis meant. It wasn’t as if she had been celibate for a long time, forty eight hours to be accurate. Up to five minutes ago she had been thinking about Draco, the only man she had ever been head-over-heels in love with and still was. The tug at her heart confirmed it. Lust? No, she couldn’t envision herself wrapped in Sebastian’s arms and yet...the minute her eyes focused on him she felt...Oh God! She gasped in silence. She was attracted to a man she just met and she was in love with another. Was that even possible? No, if she could help it. No, a thousand times no, the last thing she needed or wanted was...

  “I can see why you wanted the expansion. The neighbourhood is having a renaissance of sorts, isn’t it?”  Sebastian said. She drank in one long gulp what was left in the bottle and prepared for battle.

  “We’d be foolish not to take advantage of it. Mr. Lynch must have forgotten to call, my apologies if I sounded a bit out of sorts my computer is acting up again and I need to email a few orders. May I offer you something to drink?” she asked trying not to stare at him, keeping her hands at her back.

  “No, thank you.” He ate the distance separating them in just two steps. “You have pretty eyes. Very expressive.” Hermione kept quiet. “Would it be possible to take a look at the store next door?”  Hermione clasped her hands tighter and bit her lip. He was too close for comfort.

  “I’ll get you the keys.” She didn’t wait for his response and made a run for the office. Grasping the keys from the small desk she turned on her heels only to collide with a wall of muscle. He took her by the shoulders.

  “Are you always in a rush, Hermione?” he asked while his fingers kneaded her shoulders. 

  “It’s a busy shop,” she answered finding his ministrations rather nice. She opened her eyes which she didn’t realize she had closed and found him staring at her. His hands somehow were holding hers, the thumbs of both drawing circles on top of hers.

  “Here,” she said yanking her hands and presenting him with the keys. “Take your time, I have work to do, if you’ll excuse me.”

  And off she went annoyed at herself and at men in particular. Typing as fast as her fingers were able, Hermione attempted to log in again. Good, she was in, but the browser was not responding.

  “Come on, you stupid thing!” she said exasperated.

  “Maybe I can help.”  Mr. Dorgan, she refused to call him anything else, was literally breathing on her neck.

  “No, thank you. Don’t you have a job to do?”  Hermione snapped albeit without lifting her gaze. 

  Coming around her, Sebastian pushed his way in, shoving Hermione gently to the side. “Now let me see what we have here,” he said softly glancing back at a fuming Hermione. 

  The bell chimed. Two young women walked in. “Go ahead, I’ll take care of this.”  He grinned and she huffed and stomped her feet and plastered a fake smile on her face as she walked toward the customers.

   And so Sebastian fixed the computer, emailed the orders, helped with the shelves and with the dozen customers who waltzed in all the while taking every chance to touch her; a feathered push on the small of her back to answer the phone, a light brush of his fingers on her bare arm, on her hand. She, of course, glared at him at every opportunity but he kept on smiling, invading her space every chance he got.

  “I have to close now,” she said looking at her watch. No way she was going to let him suggest lunch. For the first time in her life she craved a stiff alcoholic beverage.

  “I had so much fun I forgot to go next door,” Sebastian said as he pulled the shades down. The gall of the man!

  “Not my problem.” Hermione reduced the distance between the counter and the front door in record time, opened the door only to be obstructed by the most annoying, overbearing, man she ever met not counting that other bloke, the one she slept with not two days ago, the one whose child she carried for nine bloody months... She inhaled. God up in heaven, Mr. Dorgan smelled so good! 

  “We worked really hard this morning, we both deserve a succulent lunch. What do you say? Do we have a date?” He was so close and she so discombobulated and flustered and so confused she was desperate to put some distance between them. 

  “I have errands to run. Anyway, nice to meet you.”  He followed her outside. Persistent man!

  “Not even a thank you! I think you owe me lunch.” Sebastian had his hand on her lower back; Hermione quickened her pace and turned around.

  “Listen, Mr. Dorgan.” She felt murderous and she liked it. Finally something to help her think straight. “I owe you nothing! You must think you are God’s gift to women, the broad shoulders, the long hair, those deep as the sea blue eyes, the charming smile, the rebel lock of hair on your cheek” Her hand was half way up when she abruptly brought it back down. He grinned again for the thousandth time. “It’s not going to work with me. I honestly, truly have no time for whatever it is you are thinking. I...”

  Sebastian hushed her with his right index finger on her lips while his thumb caressed her cheek in minute circles. He looked serious in spite of the glint in his eyes. Hermione blinked rapidly to break the spell she was under and stepped back but he was holding her hand.

  “Go on, Hermione, run. Deny it all you want.” Sebastian pointed to the two of them. “We are attracted to each other.” Hermione was about to protest and then he did the unthinkable: he kissed her! Not an open mouth, tongues meeting kind of kiss but he did, he kissed her. His lips brushed hers ever so slightly with just a hint of wetness as his tongue delineated her mouth, leaving her wide-eyed and incapable uttering a word. 

  “I wanted to do this all morning. See you tomorrow love. Enjoy your lunch.” Hermione watched him saunter away, hands in his pockets, turning his head one last time. He winked. She couldn’t move as she stared at the diminishing figure of Sebastian as it disappeared into the crowd. By the time she realized she had been standing for goodness knows how long, her gaze collided with Horace’s who must have witnessed the whole thing. Hermione cried out inwardly, rolling her eyes, glancing up at the blue skies again. 

  She glared at Horace, pivoted on her heels and with fists at her side she castigated the pavement on her way back to the shop. Slamming the door behind her, she locked it and continued her furious path to the back office, opened the door to the back alley smashing it against its frame on her way out, locked it. Two by two she climbed the stairs leading to her flat and, out of breath, she went in. A gush of air blew out of her mouth. Closing the door Hermione screamed. “Sod it! No, fuck it all! This is not happening. The next man who crosses my path...oooh!”  

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

     Harry and Ron Apparated at the foot of the steps leading to Hermione’s flat. He tried to contact her mobile. It was off and he didn’t know the shop’s phone number so there they were. The shop was closed, she wasn’t having lunch at the small park around the corner or at the take out she usually frequented. Their best bet was the flat. Ron gazed up knotting his eyebrows, as Harry stood on the steps looking at him.

  “Ron, her decision, remember? The minute you start screaming and demanding anything from her I’ll drag you back to The Burrow.”  Ron nodded his agreement. 

 Harry climbed one more step. He faced Ron again. “When she reads this,” he tightened the hold on the newspaper. “The last thing she might want is to hear your name, she’d suspect you have something to do with it.”

  “Harry, I swear...”  Harry hushed his friend. Ron snapped his mouth closed and sat on the step leading out from the office.

  The more Harry thought about it the less he liked the idea of Hermione and Ron being in the same room after she read the article. One wrong gesture or word coming from either one of them, and he was pretty sure Ron would be the first one to trip over his tongue, and an all out war would explode right in front of him. Then again, he’d be close by, if not in the same room. He glanced back at the door five or so steps away. Shrugged his shoulders and up he went as he said. “I’ll come out to fetch you, stay right there, don’t move,” he warned Ron.

 ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈  ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

 The first knock on the door startled her; the second she ignored, biting furiously into her sandwich; the third propelled her to the door which she yanked open.

 “Listen to me, Mr. Dorgan, you’d...!”  It wasn’t Mr. Dorgan but it was a man, a dear old friend but still a man. “Oh, it’s you, Harry, I thought...”

   Harry didn’t wait to be invited in. Hermione scowled at him and said something under her breath, stepping aside. “Do come in, Harry, why don’t you?”

  “Something wrong, Hermione?” He gave her a crooked smile. “Bad day at the office? Who is Mr. Dorgan?”

  She glared at him. “He is a man.”  

   Harry glanced around him approving it seemed of what he saw. But she knew him well. He was tense, jumpy and he couldn’t or wouldn’t make eye contact with her. She’d give him a few minutes, no, seconds before listening to the bad news, because there were bad news. She went to her spot underneath the window facing the street. Sitting on the floor she drank from her water bottle, took the book she had been trying to read for half an hour and placed it on her lap. She looked up. Harry tangled his fingers on his hair. Crossing her legs at the ankles she closed the book.

  “Okay, what is it?” she asked. Harry swallowed. 

  “What are you reading?” he asked but she wasn’t in the mood for delaying antics.

  “Harry, either tell me or get out. I’m in no mood for games.” From behind his back a wrinkled, worn out newspaper, was offered to her.

  “This came out on Monday,” She took it from his hand. “I thought you needed to know.”  He sat beside her. Hermione knitted her brow, moving her lips as she read and half way through the article her breathing accelerated. She sprang from the floor. Back and forth her feet moved, from the counter to the opposite wall.

  Harry rose and waited. Hermione struggled for control of her anger. Years ago she allowed a couple of articles much like this one run her out of town. Not this time. Not when her son’s well being was at stake. She tossed the paper angrily to the floor and continued her pacing, back and forth, back and forth, fists at her sides, her face hidden by lose strands of hair, chest jutting in and out. She stopped in front of Harry glaring at him.

   “Ron has done it again, hasn’t he? And you are here to stop me from murdering him, aren’t you?”  She didn’t care if Harry was affronted by her accusation. The pained expression in his eyes didn’t fool her this time. It had never been about her where Ron was concerned; no matter how stupid, mean or thick headed the amoeba brain behaved toward her, Harry managed to take his side using the coward’s way out, by keeping his mouth shut or by interceding for Ron, as if the man was a feeble minded wizard in need of a mouth piece. Well, Harry could go to hell for all she cared.

  “You tell Ron this time I’ll bury him. Going after me is one thing, but my son, Harry, my son is off-limits.”  Harry met her gaze. He was taken aback by her reaction? She looked at him more closely; he appeared relieved.

  “There is nothing in the article about your son but, I agree with you. We should strike back.” It sounded like a challenge. _‘We?_ ’

  “What, you’re not denying it? This is Ron’s doing.” She was itching for a good fight and Harry wasn’t helping with his out of character reaction to her accusations.

  “If I tell you he is not behind it, would you believe me?” The gleam in his eyes added some fuel to her simmering temper but not enough to punch the daylights out of him.

 “Ron can speak for himself if you care to listen to him. I’m not going to get involved this time.” 

   Could it be? Ron not being involved?  She wasn’t convinced yet. Ron would stop at nothing to hurt her and Harry would be the first to intercede on behalf of his best friend. Harry was using a new tactic but she wasn’t fooled by it.

  “If I knew he had anything to do with it Hermione, I’d be the first one to hex his balls off. None of us told him we had contacted you, he found out through the paper.”  Harry wasn’t avoiding her gaze now. The tension she perceived in him had disappeared. He stood there, arms on his pockets, rolling on his heels no longer anxious or hesitant but expectant, excited and he wasn’t denying or confirming Ron’s involvement either.

  “Forget Ron.”  She’d deal with the bastard sooner or later. 

  Her main concern was John Albus and Draco. Death-Eater, former Death Eater, she corrected herself, and her son and not far behind, her parents. She could visualize the headlines once those leeches learned of her son’s existence and who his father was. The wizarding world, as far as she was concerned, was stuck in time. Middle ages or early nineteenth century. Playing with a wooden stick didn’t make them any more enlightened than England at the end of the 1800’s. Journalism had come a long way since then, at least amongst Muggles. The Yellow press was derided in her world. In their world it was the only kind of journalism they knew. Accusations without proof, reputations ruined based on lies, hearsay or the so call reporter’s own version of the event. Confirmation of the facts? Why bother? Well, she would teach the son of  bitches how it was done! 

  “I let Ron and that sorry excuse of a newspaper tar and feather me out of their world. You tell Ron it isn’t going to work. An innocent little boy is not going to be their target. You’d better tell him, Harry, to keep out of my way!”  The flat was closing in on her. Rage, pure, unchecked, out of control rage, had impaired her.

  The door flung open. Hermione turned around. Ron was standing in her living room! She wasn’t aware of her arm lifting or of the iron fist colliding with his jaw. Ron fell to the ground. Harry jumped in between the two of them. 

 “Let go of me, Harry!” she said seething with her out of control fury. Harry held on to her arms tightly. He glanced to the man on the floor, dazed and struggling to open his eyes. She did the same and tried to free herself from Harry’s hold.

 “Hermione,” Harry implored. “Hermione!” She met his gaze. Harry was neither afraid, nor concerned, he was angry. “If you don’t listen to me I am going to...”

  “I want him out of here, out my neighbourhood, out of my city, out of my life!” Movement behind Harry caught her attention. Ron’s impressive self rose. Harry hesitated for a second, enough for her to back away from him. 

 There he was, Ronald Bilius Weasley. Looking at her with those beautiful blue eyes of his, and really nothing had changed. He was taller, stronger, impressive and yet, he still looked at her as if she should be begging for forgiveness, as if she owed him God knows what! What does it say about her when for years she sighed, waited with baited breath for a glance, a touch, an acknowledgment; when she wished she wasn’t as smart, as ambitious. She was willing to negate whom she was to please him, to fit into his life. Hermione let out a grunt and met Ron’s gaze. The best defense was offense. 

 “ _Accio Wand_!” Harry’s wand flew to her, she grabbed and pointed it at Ron. “Now, if you think,” she was glaring at Ron,  “this time you’ll get away with it you’re sadly mistaken, Ronald Weasley. My family didn’t do anything to you and my son...” She choked on her words and commanded the tears at the back of her eyes to make a quick retreat. Ron was staring at her not with the hatred she expected, instead there was...No! She had forgiven Harry, Ginny, the whole wizarding world, but not him! Not ever! In the few seconds it took her to take hold of her emotions Ron managed to speak for the first time.

  “A son, you have a son.” Ron barely whispered as he gave Harry an accusatory gaze. “How old is he?” Ron asked Hermione softly.

 “What business is it of yours! What difference does it make? You want revenge and you don’t care who gets hurt!”  Her hand trembled. A tight grip on the hand holding the wand diverted her attention back to a pair of sizzling green eyes.

  “And acting like a raving lunatic helps John Albus how?” Harry questioned her.

  Harry stepped aside. Furious he said to the two wizards facing each other, “I said I won’t interfere or take sides. Call each other every foul name you can think of! Hex each other, hell Crucio each other till you both are but a mass of broken bones and flesh! Get it out of your system but you,” he pointed at Hermione, “have a son to think of, parents, a future here or with us, I don’t care!” And you, he then turned to Ron. “You’d better have nothing to do with this. You said you wanted to talk to her, do it and then forget you ever met Hermione Granger. It’s over! Done! I’m done!”

  The walls and floor of the small flat vibrated as Harry slammed the door on his way out. Hermione could feel a  tiny smile tingling on her lips. Harry Potter had had it with his two pig headed, infantile friends. He threatened Ron, almost accused him of having something to do with the article! Who would’ve thought it’d ever happen? Harry leaving Ron to fend for himself! As her eyes met Ron’s some of her fury resurfaced only this time she summoned the level headed, pragmatic self she knew dwelled in her and for the first time since Ron barged into her sanctuary she looked at him. She pierced him with her brown, inquisitive orbs.

  He kept his hand at his sides, wasn’t fidgeting on his spot. Legs spread as if he was ready to fight and yet... He was hurt and he was angry but there was no scorn in his eyes.  She realized he had said very little and kept his gaze on her. He stormed in, that was true, but there were no shouts or insults or demands. In spite of his size and build Hermione noticed she wasn’t intimidated by him, not that she ever was but this Ron Weasley wasn’t the same hateful wizard she remembered, the one she expected to come back one day and pick up where he left off. And for the first time, he appeared to be waiting for her to speak and she had but one thing to say.

  “Why?” she asked 

   Ron softened his stance. “I could ask you the same question you know?” The almost teasing, hurting glint in his eyes threw her off but now wasn’t the time to drop her defenses. She was still waiting for the crass insults, the screams and the threats.

  “Ron, just answer my question and get out. Why did you do it?” She threw her hands in the air.  “You won! I left and I have no plans of coming back. What more do you want?” 

 He just stood there, calm and composed. His expression one of concentration, the way she remembered Ron as he planned his next move in a game of chess. She tightened her fingers on Harry’s wand. The realization he had left without it distracted her for a few moments. Did he forget or was it on purpose? She found Ron’s gaze on the wand in her possession.

 “You won’t need it.” He nodded his head to it. “I don’t know why I’m here, Hermione.” he answered her previous question.

  He took a couple of steps back and leaned on the door. In a gesture she found too intimate and unexpected he sat on the floor, brought his knees up and circled them with his arms. He sat there, lost in his own thoughts.

 “Ron, either tell me what you want or get out.”  The almost normal tone in her voice bothered her. She could feel the angry warmth on her face, the fast beating of her heart, the fear and disgust Ron provoked in her but like the master chess player he was, Ron had made a move she had no counter attack for which meant only one thing: she might lose the game.

  “When my mother treats me like I’m about to strike her, or my brother feels the need to warn me off my parents or my best friend thinks the worse of me and, the woman I once loved could think I could hurt a child and points a wand at me with murder on her eyes, makes me wonder what kind of man I’ve become.”  Lifting his gaze Ron met a bewildered Hermione.

  She undid her ponytail, twisted and turned her curls into a bun which she secured with Harry’s wand and in an act of frustration she laced her fingers on top of her hair, closed her eyes and looked up to the ceiling. Was God testing her or was He trying to prove a point? First, Sebastian now, Ron and for dessert, Draco. She felt like screaming! Whirlwind, roller coaster, rushed, exhilarating, challenging, happy, sad, all words which could describe her life for the past three weeks. Her past came down on her like a ton of bricks, her present kept changing, making her spin around like a blind person trying to find the way out of an intricate maze, and her future, well! Her future depended pretty much on her choices and right now she was debating what to do with Ronald Weasley.

 “Ron, all I want and demand from you is a bloody answer. What the hell are you doing here? And, do you or don’t you have something to do with that article? If you can’t or won’t answer me then goodbye. In ten minutes I’m needed downstairs.”  Arms folded angrily over her chest, Hermione found her eyes meeting with Ron’s. He pushed himself up, Hermione stepped back.

 Ron’s hands slid into his pants’ pockets and faced Hermione once again. “I saw the picture of you and Malfoy and at first...I lost it. Charlie took care of it.” The silly, shy grin on his face painted a picture Hermione had no problems visualizing. “I stopped by The Burrow...” Ron’s pained expression almost reached Hermione’s heart, almost. She wondered about the conversation between mother and son. Ron continued. “She loves you, Hermione and Harry, he will Crucio me if I ever hurt you again and I won’t.”

  “You won’t hurt me.” Hermione said bitterly. “That’s nice, three years too late but nice nonetheless.” The venom in her words tasted like nectar to her. “Now, back to what interests me the most. Keep away from me. Tell your accomplices at the Daily Prophet this time I’ll fight them word from word. I’m Hermione Granger. I’m a fucking heroine in case you’ve forgotten. I may have enemies in your world but I’m sure I have friends too. I’ll stop at nothing if you come after my family, nothing, you understand, Ron?”   

  “Does your family include Malfoy?” Now, that was the Ron she remembered!

  “Did you understand what I said? Shall I translate it for you?” She wasn’t falling for his trap. “I will kill anyone who dares hurt my family. You have magic and I have much more. It is a threat and I intend to see it through.”

  Resolute and tired of the fruitless exchange, Hermione jerked the door open. “Now get out. Go cry to mummy or Harry or whoever gives a fuck about poor Ronald Weasley. Get out of my world, go back to yours and forget that I ever existed.”

  Ron dragged his feet to the landing at the top of the stairs. “You haven’t heard a word I said, Hermione.”

  “I’m giving you the same courtesy you gave me three years ago. Goodbye, Ron.” She didn’t wait for an answer, she shut the door on his face.

 • • • • • • • • • • • • •  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

** A/N: ** **Thanks to Liz for her help. To my beta _Indie_ , it’s always fun when you are around. The best, most generous beta in fanfiction.**

**Those of you who expected either a quick reconciliation between Hermione and Ron or an all out Ron bashing, sorry to disappoint. It’s not over though, Ron will be back.**

**I’m going away for three weeks to visit my family in Panamá (Central America). Next update is going to take a long while.**


	36. Chapter 36

** Disclaimer: ** **J K Rowling is the creator and owner of the Harry Potter books.**

** A/N: ** **To _Indie_ and _Brandedfaithfully_ , thank you is not enough. I’d be lost without your help and insightful comments.**

**There is going to be a happy ending, trust me.**

**Elena**

**• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •**

 

**Chapter 36: The Truth Shall Make You Lose The Girl.**

Malfoys weren’t meant for manual labour. The Malfoy lifestyle was based on centuries old traditions of luxury and affluent comfort. Any wizard of significance avoided physical exertion at all costs. For Draco Malfoy it had become a balsam, just like flying, and a darn good way to get in shape as Nicky and Gaby pointed out to him the night before after a backyard football game when he took off his now ragged shirt. He could have had it laundered or simply disposed of it had he been alone, bur Maggie Aisling had other ideas. And so, he took it off and his playmates made him feel like... well, he felt exposed. The whistles and the catcalls didn’t help. Is it possible to blush from head to toe? Yes, if around the Aislings girls.

  Shirtless again, Draco glanced around his new home. He wiped the sweat off his brow. The yard looked a lot better. He pictured John Albus playing with his toys under one of the massive trees. Hermione would be close by, sitting on the grass and most likely reading and he looking out the window from his potions room or better still, his head resting on Hermione’s lap, eyes closed, listening to the sound of contentment and happiness. Dark thoughts besieged him. After tonight those images might never materialize.

  _‘We know where those bruises come from.’_ Candice Granger’s words could only mean one thing: Hermione knew. She had gone to the Manor looking for him and interrogated Casper. She was smart enough to circumvent the oath his elves were bound to. How did she do it? Irrelevant, the more he thought about it the more certain he was, Hermione knew. There was no tenderness in her when they made love, when they had sex, as she so bitterly described it. And sex they had, plenty of it. She drove him crazy, wild with desire. It was as if she was possessed. There he was, trying to slow down, to show her that she was and always would be the only woman in his life and it became a futile effort, except for the second time. That one time, she let him cherish her, love her, pleasure her not only with his body but also with his heart. But he’d done more than that. In a moment of weakness he Apparated to her flat and fixed it! Guilt had a weird, funny way of making him act like a besotted weakling and of complicating his plans even more. Hermione must have thought he had an ulterior motive behind his actions, like trying to make amends after sleeping with another woman. She could also think he was willing to accept her decision of not coming back to their world. Why not confront him with the truth? What was her silence trying to tell him or extract from him?

   Draco’s eyes glanced around once more. “Sod it!” he exclaimed and summoned his wand. The pile of rubbish became small enough to fit in his hand. The string of lights at the foot of one of the chairs followed the path he had traced with his wand and landed, perfectly positioned, on each of the small trees surrounding the property. Another flick of his wrist and tables, chairs, table cloths and flower pots found their places on the concrete floor in front of the sliding doors. The garden, formerly blanketed with weeds and brown patches, transformed into a soft green carpet. One more flick and his broom floated swiftly to him. He needed the open space of the sky above to subdue the strong feelings of displeasure and belligerence gathering within him. Two hours later as he prepared himself to go to Hermione’s home, nothing had changed. He could already taste the bitter pill he was about to swallow he could already taste and the chronic frustration he had been living with for the past few weeks was growing louder and louder.

Draco Malfoy inhaled loudly. “I hate having a conscience!” 

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   John Albus was in a foul mood, no surprise there. She had barely seen him the past couple of days and now she was rushing out again and Mr. Malfoy-Granger had something to say about that, yes indeed! 

   “Darling, please? Do it for Mummy, let’s finish your supper.” John Albus shook his head slowly from one side to the other, putting his little hands on top of his mouth. His cloud grey eyes resolute.

   Hermione slumped in the chair, defeated. John pushed his plate away, turning his grey gaze toward the living room. Mother and child were to have it out without grandma and grandpa’s interference. Hermione’s weary eyes followed her son’s.

 “Not a chance John. This is between you and me.” Hermione stood up and took her son’s food away, placing it on the kitchen table. “You don’t want to eat, fine. Time for your bath then.” She unbuckled the toddler knowing very well it was a matter of seconds before the storm would brake through. John Albus didn’t disappoint.

  “No, no, no!” John screamed, dropping his body to one side while extending his arms toward the kitchen. “Mummy no! No!”

 Her exit from the kitchen with her son trashing and screaming in her arms provoked an exchange of glances between her parents, who were seating in the living room watching the news. She didn’t dare look at John and Candice as she walked past them. John Albus did, giving one his best performances thus far. His face glistened with tears, the expression in his eyes like that of a child going to a torture chamber and his voice filled with such despair it made Candice squirm on the spot. Her husband took her hand in his, squeezing it gently.

  Back in her room, Hermione closed the door and locked it. As soon as John Albus touched the floor he would attempt to make a run for it. He didn’t appreciate her actions and screamed louder. With her son still in her arms, Hermione sat on her bed and closed her eyes. John Albus threw his arms up, making it nearly impossible to hold him and slid angrily to the floor in a fit of rage.

  She shouldn’t be doing this alone. In spite of having her parents’ help from the very beginning she was still a single mother and now, even with Draco back, nothing had changed. She’d be out of her parent’s home by the weekend, living by herself for the first time since she came back. By herself.

 Her son’s cries reached her as if behind a thick wall of glass. His beautiful, cherubic features crimson with fury; his eyes drowning in tears which flowed like tiny rivers down his reddened cheeks. He sat on the carpeted floor, arms at his side, legs stretched out and as determined as she knew he would be to get his way.

  Draco was no different and unlike his son, he had no excuse. Compartmentalizing his life, leaving her out of most of it and yet demanding her total surrender. After everything they went through he betrayed her! He lied to her, he hid things from her! What was going to happen tonight? What did she want to happen? 

   Her wandering mind retreated as she sensed a presence. Her gaze slid away from her hands and landed on a pair of black shoes. She lifted her head up. Draco had John Albus in his arms and to her surprise, her son was quiet, although not calm yet. John Albus whimpered softly into his father’s chest.

  “How long have you been standing there?” she asked, holding on to the edge of the bed while her heart pounded happily as it did every time she was in his presence, a fact Hermione resented profoundly today, more than any other day. 

  “Long enough,” he answered. “You can tune him out rather easily can’t you?”  Draco sounded amused and slightly cross.

  “Believe me, it isn’t easy.”  Hermione rose from the bed. Her hand caressed her son’s back. “He refused to finish his supper. When he says no, is no. When he wants something, well, you saw and you definitely heard.” She kissed John’s forehead, close enough to Draco to feel a few pestering butterflies at the pit of her stomach. Her body just couldn’t help itself today, could it?

   “He should finish his dinner. I’ll do it. Come with me.”  Draco made for the door.

 “Wait a minute Draco Malfoy!” She stood between him and the door. From the comfort of his father’s chest, John Albus stirred a little, watching his parents closely. “I thought you said seven thirty, it’s not even seven yet. I’m not ready. That’s one. Secondly, you just ordered me to do something, I thought we’ve had this conversation before; thirdly, have you forgotten your manners? You can’t just Apparate in my bedroom and then walk into my parent’s living room!”

   “Our son is obviously distressed. I’m not leaving without him finishing his supper and sleeping soundly in his cot. That’s one.” Draco dismissive tone made Hermione roll her eyes. “Secondly, let me rephrase,” shifting John’s position, Draco lifted his son’s body allowing the child to rest his head on his shoulder. “Hermione, could you open the door, please?” Hermione stood her ground. “Right, my manners. My son was screaming at the top of his lungs, obviously having a temper tantrum. As you are well aware strong emotions can elicit an out of control response in magical children. What would you rather had happen? I knock on the door, greet your parents and lo and behold John Albus amuses us with another display of his powers while I abide by rules your parents won’t appreciate anyway? Feel lucky today?” The smile on his face and the glint of his mercurial gaze melted her insides which in turn annoyed her even more because, he was right, of course. Having seen what her child was capable of sent shivers down her spine. Draco had a point but it was his dismissive tone and the arrogance of his actions which irritated her. That and the effect he’d always had on her senses and her mind. Hermione resisted his gentle push, giving Draco a defiant gaze. Draco wasn’t pleased with her attitude, nothing new there; still, as she met his eyes and became aware of something more than arrogance or displeasure in his face, Hermione paused for a few seconds and stared into those pools of thundering skies. There was more in his argent orbs than Draco was willing to admit out loud. Remorse, maybe?  He reduced the space between them, Hermione blinked, surprised; John Albus the only obstacle between their bodies. Draco’s upright stance relaxed a bit. The expression in his eyes allowed those feelings he tried to hide from her a few seconds ago to push forward.

  “I’ve not been with my son but a few hours, Hermione. I can’t leave thinking about John crying.” Draco’s whispered admission startled her. “He’ll have his supper, his bath and then we’ll put him to bed. We can talk after.”  No demands or orders this time, but a plea. He was her son’s father after all wasn’t he? No matter what the future held for them as a couple, Draco was John Albus’s father.

 “Why can’t w––?” Draco kissed whatever she was about to ask away. Not only did it silence her and melt her insides, it reminded her of another man’s lips, silencing her as Draco’s just did. 

 She put a stop to the kiss and lowered her gaze, afraid Draco would see the guilt in her eyes. But why should she feel like she’d done something wrong?  Did she encourage Mr. Dorgan? No, she didn’t. Was she the one who flirted with him? On the contrary, she did everything to discourage him. And that kiss... it was nothing, it meant nothing. Unlike Draco, she could hold her head high. Stupid Gryffindor principles!

  “Hermione...”  Draco took her chin, lifting her face. “What is it?”

 For a few seconds she drowned into those bewitching argent pools of his. She really loved his eyes! Coming back to reality, she took in the whole scene, Draco in her bedroom with an eerily calm John Albus in his arms, the three of them about to meet her unsuspecting parents and after taking care of their son, the happy couple would go out on a date. Under any other circumstances it would be the picture of domestic bliss, only it wasn’t. Draco was in her bedroom because he heard John Albus’s screams and the minute they came out of her room, there’d be no exchange of pleasantries but a whole lot of tensed, angry silence, if she was lucky.

 Resigned, Hermione stepped aside and opened the door. “Draco... please...” she said.

  His lips brushed hers, he gave a small smile as he looked at her. “You worry too much.” And with a feathery caress on her cheek, Draco nodded and Hermione made her way to the living room.

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 It went as she expected and yet it didn’t. The minute Draco stepped into the living room her parents stared at him with some perplexity, but not surprise. It was if he was expected there, which of course he was; Hermione had informed her parents of her ‘date’ with Draco. She guessed it was more the fact that Draco came from her room as opposed to the front door, which confused them and embarrassed her. Mum said nothing but her eyes did. Murderous, simmering with rage wasn’t even close to describing her mother’s darkened gaze. Dad, well, how could she describe his reaction? Calm and collected. Her Dad was, had been, and would always be the epitome of grace under pressure. Draco came in and John Granger widened his eyes for half a second, smiled while holding tightly to his wife’s elbow and then he extended his hand to Draco. Candice stormed out of the house. All things considered not a bad outcome. No fireworks, no shouts or insults.

 Draco apologized for the manner in which he barged in; he also explained why he’d done it. The Prince of Slytherin at his charming, cavalier best. Dad listened, smiled again, and taking hold of his and her mother’s jackets excused himself and left, Hermione assumed, to find his wife.

 Draco acted like a loving, devoted, experienced father. He met their son not a month ago, yet, his interactions with John Albus had been as fluid and normal as if he had been there from the beginning, as if being around children wasn’t new to him. Somehow he managed to make John Albus eat the rest of his supper, helped her with his bath and with putting him to bed. John Albus tested the waters, so to speak, with little acts of rebellion but for the most part her son preferred to examine closely the blond man while at the same giving in to the newcomer. The toddler appeared to be more at ease with Draco, more compliant, less combative. Hermione felt slightly jealous at the calmness with which Draco dealt with John Albus’s potentially explosive temper, garnering better results than she; Hermione also felt regret and remorse. By running away, she deprived Draco not only of more than a year of their son’s life but she also squandered precious time in which to make their relationship stronger. Then again, she wasn’t the same persona she was now. Back then, her life, her mind and her heart were a sorry mess. She sighed inwardly. As parents they might find a way to work together, as a couple...   And so forty-five minutes after, John Albus lie fast asleep under the watchful eye of his parents. Her dad and mum were already home, and so Draco and Hermione were able to leave.

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 Rather than going through the front door, Draco suggested the back door.

 “Why?” Hermione asked, looking at him suspiciously.

  “We need to Apparate,” he answered holding her hand, pulling Hermione gently into his arms. “Here it’s dark, secluded enough.”

  “Where are we going that we need to Apparate?” Hermione stepped back, hands on her hips, and she threw him a dirty look.

 Draco paid no heed to her vexed tone. Much was riding on this date, for lack of a better word. They were lovers, parents and presently not in a good place as a couple. Unless he mastered his nerves and temper their relationship would deteriorate even more; that is, if it survived after his confession. Once again, he took her by the waist. Reluctantly, Hermione let it happen, dragging her feet toward Draco. He pressed his body to hers, leaving no space between them. So close to him, so warm and soft. He wanted her, he craved her, he loved her. Hermione gazed at him questioningly, but as affected by his proximity as he was with hers. Oh, she was trying to hide it, the stubborn witch! He smirked and she let out an under the breath snort, searing him with her lust-filled eyes, he smirked some more, bringing his face to the side of hers, nibbling at her earlobe. It was impossible being this close to her and to not touch her, feel her, be consumed by her. He nibbled his way to her throat, tasting, nipping, sighing. Hermione leaned on him. He could feel her breath on his chest and then her mouth making a path all the way to the hollow of his throat, his chin, her silky tongue setting him on fire as it teased his lower lip, her arms trailing upward in his back, under his jacket then coming down again to travel all the way to his neck as her fingers threaded through his hair. In the meantime, his probing lips were on her face, close to the corner of her mouth. It was heaven! The thought of losing her filled him with such overwhelming fear he dove into her mouth as if trying to rescue her heart from falling into the abyss of estrangement. They both let out a sigh of relief and drank of each other as if ages, not days, had passed since their bodies sang this wonderful tune. Just as abruptly, Hermione put an end to it.

 Taking a step back, Hermione gaze up at him. Her lips were glistening, her face flushed, the amber in her eyes deepened to cocoa, unable to conceal the attraction, the hunger they’ve always  shared for each other and yet... it must have taken a great amount of self-control to end such a wonderful, blissful moment.  Oh, she wanted him alright and Draco could tell that she wasn’t happy about it. He had no doubt that she already knew about that woman and ever since, she had been retreating farther and farther away from him and Draco Malfoy had never been more terrified in his life.

  “I have something to show you and I want it to be a surprise.” Hermione nestled her hands in the pockets of her pants, rolling on her heels, pondering, examining him. “Hermione, I have no other plans but to have a nice dinner and talk, that’s all. You don’t have to look at me that way.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that I should trust you?” Her gaze never wavered from his. Her provocation stung and infuriated him. The devil with it!

  “You asked for it!” He trapped her within his arms and Disapparated.

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  The landing was smooth, but her body couldn’t care less. She couldn’t breath and even with her eyes closed she felt nauseous. Her legs gave in, Draco held her firmly and closely in his arms. His scent, a mix of soap, cologne and his very particular fragrance enclosed her and those sodding butterflies fluttered merrily in her stomach, the treacherous bastards! After a short while her breathing eased, her legs no longer felt like jelly and the world ceased its needless spinning. She lifted her head, and placing the palms of her hands on his chest, she pushed him away.

  “I hate it when you do that!” she cried out vehemently, turning the hands at her side into fists. “Is this what you define as talking? Well, I don’t feel like listening, take me back. No,” she shook her head. “I don’t need you, I can Disapparate all by my...”

 Then again, maybe not. She inhaled. They were not in the city. The air was clean, fresh, cooler. The sounds of the country were various and melodious and the sky above her glistened brightly with millions of stars so close one could almost touch them. Her attention turned to her immediate surroundings. It was lovely. Hermione realized the flickering lights around them hung from trees. Small plants, some with flowers bordered the perimeter where a table elegantly set for dinner awaited them. She turned her gaze down to the garden beneath her feet and realized this house was not in London.

 Stepping out onto the walkway, he held out his hand. “Before you hex me, may I show you around?”  The storm which had gathered in his eyes right before they Disapparated had abated, replaced by the hesitancy and eagerness in his voice. He was nervous, same for her and now her curiosity prevailed over her irritation and anxiety.

  “Where are we?” she asked, having a pretty good idea of what the answer. He walked ahead of her, opening the door to the inside of the house.

  “City limits of Hogsmeade. South-east to be precise.” Wand at the ready, Draco lit the candles. Obviously, four candles were a poor source of illumination. She would certainly miss not having electricity if she came back. However, she quickly pushed all negative connotations aside. This wasn’t the time to indulge in _‘what ifs’_ and _‘maybe I shoulds’_.

 They entered the kitchen.  She watched Draco opened a bottle of red wine, poured some in two glasses and offered her one, she took it. Draco raised his glass, “Salut! To home and family,” and sipped some of the spirit. Hermione didn’t respond to the toast but drank some on her wine.  He then pointed his wand at the pots on the cooker, stirred their contents with a wooden spoon, placed it on small plate and wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. Retrieving his wine glass he flung his arm wide and announced their surroundings.

 “The kitchen,” he said, curling his lip in a half smile. Her heart skipped a beat, she was hopeless! “And through that door, the lounge and the rest of the house. I haven’t furnished it yet, only the bare necessities, cleaned a bit though.” _He cleaned!_

Since they had fifteen or so minutes to wait until dinner was ready, he showed her around. It wasn’t what she expected considering the owner was none other than Draco Malfoy, although it was indeed a big house, worthy of the Malfoy name. Plenty of windows all around, intricate patterns on the well polished floors, a not so small study in one corner with a sunroom at the other end and a very spacious lounge and dining room. Upstairs, six bedrooms, the smallest of which was the size of her parents’ lounge and dining room put together. She wasn’t sure when or how it happened, but soon they were both engaged in discussions about colours for the walls, curtains, styles of furniture, books, John Albus’s room and the best place to have a potions lab or who will take possession of the study, and whether or not the floor to ceiling shelves in it could hold all the books she had in storage. It was only when they finally sat in the garden to enjoy their dinner that she realized two things: she liked the house and the prospect of living in it and, Draco’s scheme had almost worked. Nice of him to consult her about the decor of ‘their home’; it would have been nicer if she had been consulted regarding its location or lay out or the fact that they needed a house at all and in Hogsmeade. Although, she again, had a feeling where all of this was leading and she couldn’t deny the turmoil within her. Tempting as it was to surrender, deep down Hermione sensed it would be a mistake. Maybe it was her own stubbornness, or Draco not only shutting her out but sleeping with another woman, or maybe it was not them at all but Harry, Ginny, Ron, the wizarding world, her dreams, her projects and a myriad other little things, all blurring the path ahead of her.

 They ate in silence. She, without tasting or enjoying her dinner, quarreling with her thoughts.

 “Hermione...” His eyes avoided making contact with hers. Pushing his plate aside, Draco folded his hands and placed them on the table.

 Hermione waited and when he finally lifted his gaze her heart all but stopped. This was it, he was going to tell her. A whirlwind of emotions overcame her but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction so, she showed none. She only stared at him, and waited.

 “There isn’t a good way to tell you this,” he paused, his left hand trailed slowly over the table and covered both of hers. Hermione flinched inwardly but accepted his gesture anyway. “I...slept with another woman. A mistake, that’s all it was, nothing more, it meant nothing.”

  The instant those words stumbled out of his mouth, Hermione took her hands away and slipped them under her thighs, palms down, rocking slightly on the spot. It was one thing to suspect or even to be certain he had cheated on her, another to hear him say it in a confession. It felt surreal, as if everything around her crumbled, like some kind of holocaust tore the world as she knew it apart. It hurt, oh, did it hurt! Her gaze skimmed his face settling on his eyes. Those eyes she could stare at forever. Tears threatened to brake free, she pushed them as far back as possible. She remained calm on the surface, her chest too small to contain the painful beating of her heart. She loved and despised Draco at the same time. She was relieved and afraid. She wished to live in another reality, the one they shared a few moments ago strolling through the house.

 “Why?” she asked looking directly at him. His answer might save what they had.

 “I don’t know why,” he replied quickly looking down at his intertwined hands.

 Wrong answer, she thought. Hermione breathed in and out, once, twice; by the third time she summoned the courage to speak in a steady tone. “You better figure it out Draco.”

 “Does it really matter?” He stood, pushed his chair in and held on to the back of it with both hands looking down at her, meeting her gaze. She searched high and low for the answer, his guilt was obvious but the fact that he could look directly into her eyes and defied her to dig deeper when he had already made his mind not to let her in, enraged her.

 She asked a valid question and demanded an answer. “You honestly expect me to hear you confess sleeping with another woman, what a month, two weeks ago?  A week? And do what? Say what?” She rose and like him found support in the back of the chair as her hands clung to it while holding on to his silver, guilt ridden and yet, arrogant stare. “ ‘Bravo Draco, thank you for letting me know’, ‘Well done darling’, is that what you really thought would happen?”

 The sound of the breeze in the trees filled the silence between them. A night creature scurried somewhere. Draco stood there, quiet, pensive, while his features sagged with traces of what Hermione sensed was shame and regret. Her body hummed with his proximity, urged her to take him in her arms, drown in the moonlit sea of his eyes, forgive and forget; instead she embraced herself. His lowered eyelids lifted, his hands rushed to the warmth of his pockets, it was cold.

 “What is it that you want from me Hermione?” His right hand sifted through his hair while he pivoted on his heel, walking away from the table and into the shadows. “Haven’t I passed the test?” He asked bitterly. “Haven’t I done what you wanted? Don’t look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve known about it for days.”

  “So what if I did! There I was looking at all this blood, thinking the worse, only to find it was all because of a woman!” She paused and then asked quietly, “Why Draco?”

 “I don’t know!” He snapped. “It just happened!”

 “Fine. Don’t tell me why a man claiming to be in love with a woman, runs to another for comfort. In the meantime...” She hesitated, grabbed her purse and came closer to him. “We need some distance, a break from...”

 Swiftly he took her by the shoulders. “No! You can’t...I can’t...”   His mouth crashed on hers, desperate, hungry, angry. She clenched her lips tightly to stop the assault on her senses and her will. Her arms, alongside her body itched to bring him closer to her, to mold her body to his. She closed her eyes. Images, unwanted, painful ones assailed her. She grasped his arms and leaned away from him.

 Mastering her ragged breathing and the moisture in her eyes, Hermione, still clinging to her purse, crossed her arms over her breasts. “This time it won’t work Draco.” She pointed at the table. “This won’t either. Or what you did with the flat. It won’t erase what you did. I want to know why Draco, when did it happen and for how long have you come into my bed after you...”

 Those gorgeous, miserable eyes of his pleaded with her. “I...Hermione...” He took one step, she retreated. If he couldn’t talk to her, really talk to her, what was the point of it all? “Once, only once. I barely remembered and I’d rather forget it,” he admitted.

 “But I can’t forget Draco. I thought I could, I tried. When?” She had to know.

 “Hermione...” He sounded tired, defeated.

 “When?” she demanded again, ready to scream.

 “Friday, Friday night, happy?” He retorted like a spoiled child, angry about having to admit to mischief.

  “After you left my parent’s home.” The night of his failed attempt to scare her into submission. Hermione had had enough.

 “I have to go.” She waived a dismissive hand. “I can Disapparate by myself.”

  “Hermione we...” She shook her head.

  “ _We_ ,” she emphasized, charging at him, “there is no _we_ at the moment.” She knew otherwise for after all they had a child together and miserable and betrayed as she felt, she still loved him but it wasn’t enough. Yes, he was arrogant, proud and obstinate, except for the times when he’d allow her to experience the many other facets of Draco Malfoy. Three years ago, albeit reluctantly and with a bit of encouragement he’d opened his heart and allowed her to hear about his ghosts, his fears and insecurities. She’d also been able to be the recipient of his gentleness, vulnerability and understanding because they had also become friends and like a good friend he pledged his loyalty; no matter what he’d said, he’d never betrayed her. Here they stood, more than three years later, she wondering if she’d ever forgive him. And Draco? She had no answer. They needed some distance. It was a gamble but she knew it had to be done.

  His voice broke into her thoughts as he attempted to regain his lost ground. To her surprise Draco’s tone was soft, calm, gentle. Curious, she stared not into a thunderous, moonlit sea. The softened silvery orbs reached out to her, no masks, no postures. “You’re right, we should start all over again.” 

 Hypnotized by his gaze, stunned by his words, Hermione was barely aware when Draco took her small purse and placed it on the table. Disentangling her arms from her chest he slid his long fingers down her arms, taking her hands in his. Both lifted their gazes which had been fixed in their laced fingers and he released one hand to caress the side of her face, his right hand splaying itself on her left cheek while his thumb brushed over her parted lips, his eyes boring into her. Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to? Start all over again? What did he mean by that?

 “You should go.” He whispered. He kissed her brow and stepped back. “Good night.”

 Their gazes locked and lingered, both suspended in an existential cloud of confusion and desire. Hermione picked up her purse, opened it, took out Harry’s wand and, with small pop, Disapparated.

 

 

 

 


	37. Chapter 37

** Disclaimer: ** **J K Rowling created and owns the Harry Potter series.**

** A/N: ** **Thanks to _Brandedfaithfully_ for her generosity in editing this chapter.**

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  **Chapter 37: I Forgive You. No, I Don’t**.

  “I believe it’s your move,” Harry said, his eyes fixed on the board. They’d come back to The Burrow as soon as Ron came down the stairs from Hermione’s flat giving a vacant glance to Harry as he said _‘Let’s go home.’_ Not that he expected a buoyant, jubilant Ron, but the almost apathetic reaction after confronting Hermione concerned the green-eyed wizard. Soon after their return to The Burrow, Ron excused himself to his bedroom, claiming the need for a nap. Molly’s wistful stare followed her son, shaking her head. Harry promised to come back for supper. Ginny was at Grimmauld Place, brewing a complicated potion, part of her admission requirements to the Healers Program at St. Mungo’s. He had not seen her since the day before nor had he checked on Malfoy. Finally, Ron had returned and agreed to some chess.

 Elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, and his gaze on the wizarding chessboard, Ron appeared concentrated in his next move but it had been more than ten minutes since Harry’s horse smashed Ron’s rook to pieces. There might be a possibility of a win considering Ron’s state of mind. Harry decided to take it. He had yet to beat his best friend at chess and he’d be remiss not to take advantage of his distractions. Straightening his shoulders, Ron sighed, took his queen and moved it one space in front of Harry’s one and only tower. “Check mate,” Ron announced, with a sad twinkle in his eyes.

 “What!” Harry rose and did a three sixty turn around the board, as if the outcome would be different from another angle. “Half the time you weren’t even paying attention!”

 Ron let his shoulders drop, and gave a loud sigh. “She has changed, Harry.” Standing up, hands in his pockets, Ron made his way to the front door, opened it and sat on the first set of steps. Harry gave a last confounded glance at the board and went outside to sit beside his friend.

 Ron and Harry shared a few minutes of silence. The sun was making a slow, colourful retreat, tinting the cotton-like clouds with orange, blue and deep purple strokes. Birds chirped as loud as it was possible, like children crying as they fight sleep and weariness. The late spring temperature was pleasant, although out here in the country the chill of the almost night made Harry knot his arms around his chest. Turning his eyes to his friend, he noticed Ron’s distant stare, the almost dream-like glance of one who is lost in memories of long ago. Harry knew what Ron was thinking about. Ever since Ginny set out to find Hermione and then he himself faced her, Harry wished for the past three years to never have happened. As the memories resurfaced, so did guilt and anger, dragging him as deep into despair as he’d ever been. He couldn’t deny the sadness and emptiness he sometimes felt as the new reality of this life presented itself to him. Hermione had changed, but hadn’t they all? For the better? Could the three of them forgive themselves and each other?

“She can’t possibly be the same girl, Ron.” Harry said finally.

“How old is her son?” Ron sounded sad and defeated.

“He’ll be two in November,” answered Harry, smiling.

Ron noticed it. “What are you smiling about?”

“John Albus has a temper and a sense of humour. I have the feeling Hermione is in for the ride of her life.” He then proceeded to tell Ron about John Albus antics during tea time at The Burrow and the scary experience of his magic powers days before.

“Blimey! He’s not even two!” Ron, like his brother Bill, couldn’t hide his admiration.

“That’s exactly what I said to Ginny,” Harry said.

Once again, both friends kept quiet for a few seconds.

“She was pregnant when she left. Pregnant with his baby.” Ron’s bitter words put Harry on alert.

 “And she was scared, without friends or family,” Harry added in a much harsher tone than he intended.

“Harry––” Ron paused, glancing at his friend. “I can’t stand it. I’ve never been a sensitive bloke by any means, but she hating me like that felt dreadful.” Pushing himself up, Ron walked away a few metres. Turning around he faced Harry again. “The same way she used to feel about him,” he punctuated the last word and Harry could tell that Ron was picturing himself as the villain now and not liking it at all.

“Ron...what we did, the things you said, what she went through...” Both friends looked at each other and again; no words were needed. Harry knew Ron was thinking about the last  weeks before Hermione disappeared.

 “She forgave you and Ginny.” Throwing his arms in the air Ron continued, “For Merlin’s sake! Draco Malfoy! She can forgive him and not me!” More than angered, Ron sounded baffled.

 “I don’t understand how she could’ve forgotten what he’s done either,” Harry admitted. “What happened at her flat when I left?” he asked.

Dropping his shoulders, Ron sighed and sat beside Harry, gazing into the distance. “She’s convinced I have something to do with that stupid article.” He turned to Harry. “I don’t Harry, I swear.”

“Can’t blame her for not believing you.”  Harry said looking directly into Ron’s eyes.

“What if you––” Harry shook his head, curtailing Ron’s request.

“No, it’s her decision. You said it yourself, she’s changed and so have we.” Harry loved them, he always will but, it was not his job, no matter how much he would like for things to be different, to keep the three of them together. “I won’t interfere one way or the other. She doesn’t want to talk to you, so be it.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Ron sounded annoyed and hurt. “You’re on speaking terms with her again. She could never be angry at you for long, but with me––do you remember sixth year? The canaries?”

Harry looked at his friend and had to smile shaking his head. There he stood, Ron Weasley, no longer a child, twenty one years old and as thick headed as ever, probably still trying to figure out why she sent those blasted birds at his head. Ron stared at his friend, frowning.

“You’ll never change Ron,” Harry said. “You just can’t help it, can’t you? Dense and jealous as ever.” Harry raised his volume and tone, trying to stress his next words. “She was in love with you Ron, for years, and you and you alone changed that. I guess Hermione expected anything from you but hatred. I honestly think you hated Hermione more than you do Malfoy.”

Where did this candor come from? Harry supposed seven years submerged in a war, three years of self-flagellation, a whole month of soul searching and a few well spoken truths by Ginny and Hermione would do that. This new reality pained him but it didn’t mean he had lost everything. There was little for him to lose from the start any way. In fact, Harry realized, he had gained more than he lost. Hermione and Ron were still his friends, Voldemort was no longer a threat, the wizarding world was slowly rebuilding itself, the Weasleys were as close and dear to him as if they were his own family and to his utter astonishment the most amazing, exciting, infuriating and sexy witch he’d ever known, loved him! If anything, Harry found the challenges in his present life invigorating and yes, some of them scare him to death.

“I never hated Hermione.” Ron stood still, glaring down at Harry whose only response to his friend’s angry stance was to lean back resting his elbows on the step behind him, stretch his legs and return a much calmer gaze at the read-headed wizard.

“You never let go Ron. Nothing mattered to you but your thirst for revenge. She never had a moment’s peace and as if that wasn’t enough you went to The Prophet.” Harry’s gaze never wavered, Ron’s met his and then he dropped it shamefully to the ground. “She had no choice. Had her pregnancy been known––had she stayed––she might be dead today.”

“I––I didn’t––” Ron stopped, threading his fingers through his hair and turned around, strolling away from the house. From where he sat, Harry saw Ron inhale deeply. His shoulders rose and then came down. Hands in his trousers, Ron finished what he was trying to say as Harry came to his side following his friend’s glance into the horizon.

“I hated her, you’re right. Something got a hold of me and––” Ron let his gaze meet Harry’s. “Now, I––can’t explain it. Whatever I took from Hermione, I need to give it back to her.”

For a few moments Harry just stared at Ron, unable to say anything. Fidgeting under Harry’s scrutiny Ron went on. “I have to talk to her and I really want to know what you’re not telling me. I give you my word. I won’t hurt her or her son.”

A not so gentle breeze engulfed them, causing the wizards to shiver. The temperature had gone down a few degrees. It was pitch black. Harry wrestled with Ron’s request. Surprisingly, Ron had summarized most of what he also felt. They owed Hermione, that was true but, it wasn’t a one-sided huge misunderstanding. Maybe the time had come to speak not out of guilt, regret or disillusionment but to deal once and for all with their past.

“If you ever hurt her again in any way, shape or form, there’ll be no place on this earth where you could hide because I’ll find you.” Harry could feel the heat on his face as he issued his warning. “We better go inside, I’m freezing. I’ll tell you inside what you want to know.”

As Ron turned the doorknob he said, “You do know you left you wand with Hermione.” He teased Harry.

Closing the door behind him, Harry countered. “I don’t need my wand to kick your arse.” Open-mouthed Ron watched the scattered pieces on the chess board march into their right spots while a smirking Harry made his way to the kitchen.

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

Staring at the parchment in her left hand, Hermione let out a silent sigh as her forehead found rest on the heel of her hand while her fingers disappeared underneath the unruly curls. All was quiet, peaceful. Dawn was a few minutes away. She’d been staring at her window from where a tiny, elegant and silvery looking owl swooped in with Draco’s letter. At least she was the only one scared out of her wits by the blasted bird so early in the morning, as opposed by a very loud telephone ring alerting the occupants of the small house that Draco Malfoy was the most annoying, relentless, enigmatic, stubborn bastard she’d ever known and that... Crap! That everything he said made sense to her.

Nevertheless, she wished the tone of his words had a different kind of ring to them. How different? Certainly not like he was writing to a mate of his or a business partner, but the woman he was in love with. For Merlin’s sake! Just the night before she was in his arms, his hands and mouth driving her crazy and now... _‘I asked for it, didn’t I? And he accepted it. So why am I so disappointed?’_  Because he told her the truth and when she asked for distance, when she broke it off with him, Draco didn’t fight back, save for that wild, hungry kiss. _‘You are right; we should start all over again.’_ Did she say that? She most certainly did not!  She distinctly remembered the word distance, that is to say giving emotional space to each other and then she said break, as in an impasse in their relationship because he had slept with another woman! Starting all over again! Really! How exactly did he propose they do that?

 

_Dear Hermione,_

_I believe you are moving to your new flat over the weekend. As I stated before I have not been around my son but a few stolen moments over the past couple of weeks. I proposed that I keep John Albus with me during your move. I can bring him back Sunday night or Monday morning. It is the least I can do to make the transition better for you. I thought it would be a good opportunity for my son and I to get to know each other better. I beg of you not to fight me on this. You have my word, if he is in any discomfort of any kind, I’d  bring him back in an instant._

_I look forward to spending time with John Albus. I thought having him alternate weekends might be a good start. Maybe you can take him four days a week, lets say until Thursday, and I Friday until Monday, morning or afternoon. We need to sort this out, don’t you think? The sooner we start the better for John Albus._

_I’d expect your reply today.  I plan on visiting the Aislings tomorrow, they are eager to meet you both. I’d apologize on your behalf. Maybe, some other time, when you are not as busy or preoccupied you’d be able to accept their invitation._

_Have a good day._

_Draco._

  _PS: I’d offer to assist you with the move but I’m certain you’d rather not._

 

So this is what their future would be like? John Albus going back and forth and a few polite words between his parents. Hermione blinked back tears of regret and doubt. Not twenty four hours had passed and she already missed Draco and yet, as his confession made his betrayal a reality, Hermione couldn’t erase the image of Draco and that other woman together. Love, being in love, sometimes made no sense at all. One part of her wanted to run and say yes to him, yes to everything; the other...couldn’t forgive him. She wondered about the shop, what it would look like once the changes were in place? She’d be living by herself and it excited her. She was even thinking of finishing her studies at Hogwarts, another one of Draco’s ideas that she hated to agree with. Although the logistics of it eluded her, there were all those other ideas swirling around her head and...Draco, always Draco. Exasperated with herself, Hermione climbed down her bed. The cute, little owl waited patiently on the windowsill. Hermione sat at her desk and answered Draco’s letter.

She’d seen Draco and John Albus together. They were starting to bond. If not this weekend it’d be next week but she couldn’t deny the two men in her life. Her mother would have a fit. Tonight, her son would sleep away from her for the first time since he was born. She already felt the hollowness in her chest. She signed her response and rolled the parchment.

“I don’t know your name.” Hermione patted the bird as she fastened the letter on its claw. “Thank you.”

In an instant the small bird flew away as she leaned on the wall, by the window, and watched as it became smaller and smaller until it disappeared. She sat on the rocking chair, closed her eyes. A small, lonely tear ran down her face. She let it slide. Another one followed. She wasn’t sure why she cried, she just did. _“I don’t know!” He snapped. “It just happened!”_ Draco’s words from the night before raced back to her thoughts. Perhaps she cried for the same reason he’d sought comfort in another. And that reason eluded them both. Blinking rapidly Hermione wiped her eyes free of the moisture clouding her vision. John Albus had risen, holding on to the handrail, he stared at her. She smiled; he rubbed both his eyes losing his balance, falling back. Hermione laughed softly and walked toward the cot. Extending his arms, John Albus requested to be taken into Mummy’s warm embrace and so Hermione obliged.

“You are going to spend some time with Daddy this weekend.” Like every morning, her footsteps ended by the window, where she and John Albus would greet the new day. John’s hand found its way to his mother’s nape where he played gently with her hair while the other rested on her chest.

“Daddy,” he repeated softly.

“Your father, you are right; and if you don’t want to stay with him, just scream and cry and use some of your magic, break something and he’ll bring you back to me.” Hermione’s voice faltered.

Lifting his head the toddler’s almost mirror-like eyes examined his mother. “Mummy,” he said touching her left cheek where another wayward tear slipped by.

“I love you so much John Albus, so much!” She kissed him soundly on both cheeks and forgetting it was still too early, she threw him up in the air, eliciting the response she so wanted and needed: his laughter.

 

 

 

 


	38. Chapter 38

** Disclaimer: ** **J K Rowling created and owns the Harry Potter series.**

** A/N: ** **Without my beta _BrandedFaithfully_ I'd be lost. Many thanks, ¡gracias!**

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**Chapter 38: Just Say No.**

“Hmm...” She was floating. “Hmm,” she whispered softly into her pillow. Heaven, that’s what it felt like. She was floating on a warm, soft cloud and...Ginny moved just a little, she wasn’t alone. Oh my, a hand, not hers mind you, reached over and pulled her in. That same hand travelled all the way from her stomach to her breast spreading its fingers over it, kneading, massaging and inflaming her. Her eyelids fluttered, her head tilted back granting access to a set of soft meandering lips. Her foggy gaze landed on a wall, her eyes opened wide.

“Merlin help us!” She bolted upright, grabbing the duvet to cover her chest. Bewildered, she glanced around. It was morning! This was Grimmauld Place! Shite and more shite, her mother was going to kill her! And she was going to kill Harry! Frowning she looked beside her, where was Harry?

Moaning, her boyfriend’s black locks appeared at the side of the bed. “Bloody hell! What’s got into you?” Harry groaned some more before lifting himself from the floor.

Clutching the duvet, Ginny climbed down the bed. “Why am I in your bed at,” she paused and glanced at the clock on the bedside table, “six in the morning! Harry, we told mum we would come back no later than one, she is going to...” Harry had on the same clothes he had on the night before. Ginny lowered her eyes to the hand holding on to the duvet. “We aren’t naked,” she said relieved.

“Would you like us to be?” If she were to answer based on his very prominent morning erection and the heaviness in her breasts her answer would be a resounding yes. Despite his little tumble out of the bed, Harry looked bright-eyed, playful and predatory. She shook her head more at her libido than to the suggestive, sexy glint in Harry’s eyes.

“I better go. What am I going to tell mum?” she complained, but her boyfriend, apparently wasn’t the least concerned about Molly Weasley’s wrath. With a cocky smile and slow swagger, Harry stalked her around the bed, pulled the duvet out of her hand and finally kissed the daylights out of her. Something about Harry’s kisses made all concerns melt away. Death by Molly Weasley seemed suddenly inconsequential and Ginny welcomed Harry’s intoxicating lips, her hand sliding into his already messy dark hair. She wasn’t idle for long. His kisses had her fantasizing wildly within seconds. Rubbing against him, caressing his tongue with her own, Ginny’s hands found their way to the front of his trousers. Harry’s hand stopped her and it was as if he had thrown a bucket of ice water over her head. The fantasy evaporated. Their foreheads met, he sighed, and she let out a moan.

“Ginny, please,” he pecked her lips. “If I tell your mother nothing happened, it’d better be true.”

Ginny dropped on the bed whispering a foul sounding word. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry squirm a little. Turning around he adjusted his pants, and she guessed, gave a good talk to the part of his body doing most of his thinking for the past couple of days. Served him right! If snogging were a sport she and Harry would be the envy of the world. Merlin knows they’d practiced day and night! Mouth to mouth resuscitation had taken on a whole new meaning in the past weeks as they’d gone from boring and predictable to daring and inventive, and it was all Harry’s fault. Practice was fine but when would their skills be put to the test? Being in a constant state of arousal did very little for the concentration required to prepare for the admission exam to the Healers Program. He was always touching her, kissing her, looking at her as if she were his favourite Honeydukes confection, and when he wasn’t around the mere thought of what his lips or fingers had been up to ––three orgasms in two days! And even without taking her clothes off! Well, maybe just enough so his fingers... –– Ginny grabbed her satchel annoyed at the whole situation. She then remembered why they had come back to Grimmauld Place.

She pivoted on her heels. “My potion!” She also recalled who else spent the night one door down the hall. “Ron! If he’d seen us!” She sprinted toward Harry, hitting his chest. “You scheming, good for nothing, stupid git!”  This Harry enervated, excited her and Merlin, how she loved him!

With a finger to his lips, he steered her by the shoulders out of Harry’s bedroom and down the stairs. Reaching the first landing, he turned her back around and kissed her brow, his voice quiet, low and sexy as hell. “As chaperones go, your brother sucks at it. And your mum,” his voice filled with affection, “...your mum can’t possibly think that after all this time you and I haven’t done the deed yet, but we’ll let her keep the illusion you are still this little virginal girl.” Coming down the remaining stairs, Ron’s loud snores crept throughout the whole House of Black. “And now to address the scheming, good for nothing stupid git...guilty as charged on the scheming and stupid, but as for ‘good for nothing’,” Harry continued, “just so you know, I shall finish my seventh year at Hogwarts and become a useful member of society.”

Ginny turned around. Her heart leapt and danced joyfully examining his smug looking expression. “You aren’t joking, are you?”

“Nope, I received my letter yesterday and Professor McGonagall must have my answer by now.” They sauntered casually into the kitchen, and as he kissed her again, pots and pans found their way to the cooker.

Ginny stood in the doorway, floating in a trance of good news and soft lips. Harry was going back to Hogwarts and without breaking a sweat his kitchen had come to life without the use of his wand!

“Harry,” she murmured.

“Mm-hmm,” he answered, preoccupied apparently with looking for something; the cupboards opening and closing automatically while he stood in the middle of his wonderfully decorated kitchen ––the only room he had bothered to bring back to the twenty first century.

“Harry,” she persisted. When he finally turned around and looked at her, Ginny continued, “You forgot your wand.”

“No, I didn’t. Hermione has it.” His mischievous grin distracted her for a few seconds. “That woman can produce a wand before you even blink twice; I wished you had seen her yesterday!” He turned back to the business at hand, breakfast.

“You don’t have a wand,” Ginny explained to herself as if hearing it loud might help make more sense out of it, “and...I guess it’s not a surprise... I mean, wandless magic isn’t unheard of.  It’s  just that...” She finally wandered into the room and stopped right in front of him. The glint in his eyes was as clear, as peaceful and satisfied as never before. “At least you still need your wand to Apparate, right? That’s why you asked me to side–along  Apparate with you.”

He ignored her comment as ingredients floated from pantry to countertop. But then as if needing some confirmation, he turned to her. “I wonder how many of us would go back? Ron’s thinking about it. There’s something going in Romania and he’s tight lipped about it. Hermione needs more convincing, she has other priorities. But I bet there are a lot of students who need to finish.”

Ginny closed the gap between them. “You’re looking forward to it.” It was a question and an observation all rolled into one. She placed her hand on his chest, gazing up at him. “Finishing your studies, you’re happy about it.”

His smile temporarily dropped to a look of sincerity. “I’m doing it for me Ginny, like you said. Right now, it’s all I want to do. Hogwarts, re-build my parents’ home and fix this place.” His hands slid up the back of her head and he placed a sweet, gentle kiss on her lips. “And kissing you, of course.” Taking her in his arms, she melted in a tight, warm embrace. His next words came muffled in her hair as if he had to hold on to her tightly in order to say them. “I still have nightmares and images pop out of nowhere in the middle of the day but,” he stepped back, placing his hands on her shoulders, “it’s getting better.” A smile reappeared, genuine, not forced. He sounded so happy about it, she couldn’t help herself, she kissed him, not with lust but love and relief.

“And,” she waved her hand around at the blueberry pancakes that were now pouring themselves into the pan. “This, Mr. Potter?” Ginny asked.

“It’s nothing.” She heard some hesitancy in his voice.

“No it’s not.” Ginny led him to a chair, she sat next to him, but she noticed that the invisible chef making their breakfast hadn’t missed a beat. “Wandless magic is not unheard of, it’s just difficult at times, most of the time. It can be messy, dangerous. You make it look too simple, effortless.”

Harry lowered his gaze, brushed his hair with his right hand and sighed deeply, the sound of cooking came to a halt like he had simply said ‘hold on a minute.’ He met Ginny’s questioning and concerned sienna gaze. “Don’t ask me for dates or times, all I know is that one day I wished for something to come to me and it did, some other time I just walked into the kitchen, for example, thinking about what is it I wanted for supper or lunch and it happened, pots, ingredients just flew out and did as I wished. There’s nothing wrong with me Ginny.” The childish expression made Ginny smile. Of course nothing was wrong with him. Magic’s first manifestation in children would be spontaneous, lacking direction or purpose. A wand would channel its power in a more controlled and focus fashion.  However, Harry wasn’t a child. He was indeed a powerful wizard; the only one powerful enough to defeat the darkest magic ever known. Wandless magic wasn’t the issue. The concern was that in all his dealings with Voldemort, by sharing his thoughts and feelings, being so intimately connected with the dark wizard, could it have affected Harry’s powers?

The kitchen activity returned. Ginny was amazed that he didn’t even seem to move or look or even twitch and the pancake batter gently flowed from the bowl. “You can do more than this can’t you?” Harry nodded, his teeth grazing his lower lip. “Like throwing hexes and curses? Occlumency, Legilimency, not a problem now, are they?” He assented again.

She hit his shoulder. “And you did it pissed out of your mind? Are you insane?” She yelled furiously.

“How would you know?” He asked baffled, but clearly understanding he had made an error of judgement.

“I’d say John Albus having a temper tantrum and you have a lot in common. Have you seen what the rest of this place looks like? You idiot!” She hit him again and the spatula dropped to the pan with a loud clank.

“Who’s the idiot?” Ron asked as he shuffled into the room, running fingers through rumpled hair, rubbing whatever sleep was left over with his other hand. “Hmm, smells delicious.” Ron sat next to Harry, yawned and turned his head casually to Ginny. “Mum is going to kill you, you know.”

“I fell asleep...” she defended herself, but got a ‘sure you did’ look back from her brother, “...with my clothes on! Harry is going to explain everything to Mum, aren’t you darling?” The honeyed, teasing tone provoked a small laugh in Ron as he nudged his friend in the shoulder.

“Well, better you than me mate. I’m surprised she’s not here, hexing both of you all the way to the Ministry. I heard marriage licenses are easier to get now.” Inhaling deeply, Ron pushed himself up and helped himself to a mile high stack of fluffy pancakes, along with eggs, bacon and sausages. “Besides, why can’t you just tell her about your plans? She’ll be over the moon about it.”

“What if I don’t make it? She’ll be over the moon if I’m accepted, until then, you promised not to say anything to her.” Ginny warned both wizards. “Which reminds me, I’d better stir my potion and add those putrid bezoars to it. That stupid thing is half my marks!”

Rushing out of the kitchen, Ginny left the young men enjoying their breakfast.

“I was referring to the _other_ plans,” Ron mumbled, sort of to himself, but loud enough that Harry was sure to hear.

“Other plans?” Harry asked.

“You know...” he wagged his eyes back and forth, the obvious insinuation about the two of them and their relationship.

“Let’s not go there right now, Ron.”

“I’m just sayin’ that Mum would be over the moon with that too.”

Ron summoned two mugs and the kettle to the table, Harry took care of the tea, milk and honey. A companionable silence followed.

“What are your plans today?” Leaning against the chair, Ron glanced around admiring Harry’s new kitchen.

“Hermione is moving out this weekend. Ginny and I are helping her pack a few things tonight, and tomorrow we’ll help with the move.” Harry sipped his tea, studying his friend from the rim of his cup.

“And Malfoy?” Ron rested his elbows on the table.

“Hermione’s parents, Hermione’s mother,” Harry clarified, “can’t stand him. I doubt he’ll be there.” Malfoy would be with his gorgeous Muggle friends. He certainly spends a lot of time with them.

“And he’d just stay away?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I honestly don’t care Ron. If he is there, I’ll follow Hermione’s lead, he is not, I’ll enjoy visiting my friend.”

“Not a good time to talk to her, I guess.” Ron sounded let down. “It’s not like I can write to her and ask her, is it? We know what her answer would be.” Crossing his arms over his wide chest he locked gazes with Harry. “I will find the way Harry.”

“You do what you’ve got to do as long as you remember what I said.” Harry said casually. Pushing himself up he proceeded to clear the table.

“No need to threaten me you know?” Ron answered, rising from the table.

“I just don’t want either of you to hurt each other more, that’s all.” Harry replied coldly. Wiping his hands on the kitchen towel he added, “Time to face your Mum. Tell Ginny to go straight to the shop. I’ll meet her there.”

Ron brushed his fingers through his messy hair. “She’ll be furious.”

Harry smirked. “No, she won’t. I’m her favourite person in the whole word and...” He winked, gave a cautious glance around and said, “soon to be son-in-law.” 

Wide eyed, mouth gaping open, Ron watched Harry throw some Floo powder on the ever glowing fireplace. “The Burrow!” Harry disappeared.

“Blimey!” Ron dropped on the chair, grinning from ear to ear. “I knew it!”

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“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Hermione’s footfalls were brisk and impatient as she rushed across the shop. It had been a crazy day and apparently with no respite in sight.

“The Last Page,” she answered the phone sharply. Forget politeness, she was swamped.

 “Having a bad day, are we?” Sebastian’s confident greeting  infuriated her. Hermione slammed the phone and resumed her work. She had no time for conceited and arrogant, no matter how gorgeous, men.

The phone rang once, twice. She ignored it, shoving aside her sense of duty. It was him and she’d had it. By the fifth ring her patience was running thin. By the eighth...pulling Harry’s wand, she obliterated the device to dust. Closing her eyes, she breathed in soundly. Her hand trembled and tightened its hold on the wand. Willing herself to calm down, she exhaled. Eyes still closed she performed the soothing exercise again. Opening her eyes she then walked to the office and placed the wand inside her backpack. The thrill of magic still tingled within her, but she immediately realized her error. Returning to the store, she lowered her glance and stared at the small mound of what once used to be a communication apparatus.

“I’m an idiot.” Pivoting on her heels she went back to the office, and got hold of the broom and dustpan. She stopped, placed the broom back and grabbed the wand she had just put away and digging deeper, grabbed her wallet. As she stepped over the rubbish she had created, her wrist barely moved and the dust-like particles disappeared. With her head held high Hermione left the shop; Mr. Lynch was in dire need of a new phone.

Walking with purpose and still irritated, albeit not remorseful of taking her anger out on a lifeless object, Hermione set out to the one and only shop in the whole block which could assist her in the acquisition of a telephone. Mr. Lynch was coming with the engineer at lunch time. Depending on what the experts said work on the expansion of  ‘The Last Page’ would start in two weeks. Then again, dealing with the town bureaucrats might extend the time to months. She couldn’t wait to see it finished!

Her steps regained a much calmer pace. Maybe she should contact Draco and tell him to pick John Albus up on Saturday morning. Harry and Ginny had promised to come by tonight and she needed the help; she had been too preoccupied with Draco and the shop and too tired to do much about the flat. On the other hand, having her son in the middle of the confusion might slow them down. Dad and Mum weren’t pleased with her decision. Dad, as expected, reserved his opinion for later. _‘Are you sure living on your own is what you want?’_ he asked, she answered with a resounding _yes_ ; Dad caressed her face and that what’s that. This morning she told them about John Albus spending the weekend with his father. Mum swore, Dad questioned his daughter’s decision with just a look and she couldn’t think of her angel away from her without tears threatening to flow out of control. So, no, she was walking on a very thin emotional line and she had a wand, Sebastian Dorgan didn’t have a prayer.

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Communication had been restored and the phone, surprisingly, had been quiet. Mr. Lynch and the engineer spent three hours going back and forth between the two buildings, measuring, testing pipes, outlets, pounding walls, cursing at the government, be it local or national for the amount of time which would be wasted processing all the permits, but it was a done deal. In a few months, The Last Page would charm all with a new facelift. Word had spread about the renovation and true to form the ladies of St. Aidan attempted to snoop around only to be chased away by the very vocal, none too polite owner of Hermione’s beloved shop. The architect had been conspicuously absent. Six o’clock was fast approaching, soon she’d be able to go home and face Draco again. She didn’t want to and she had no choice.

Apparently, she had no choice about Mr. Dorgan either. The little bell announced his entrance; her stomach plummeted. Oh yes, she hadn’t dreamt those dazzling features of his. He was all male, all hard muscle and with the most captivating smile she had ever seen, and she wanted to knock that stupid grin off his face.

“Hard at work I see.” Sebastian sauntered in, hands in his pockets and piercing blue eyes. Blessedly, he kept a healthy distance from her.

What was it about this man that altered her and made her feel exposed? It wasn’t as if he were the first male to flirt with her. Hundreds of men, young and old had come through those doors and tried to get her attention, only to be dismissed and forgotten the minute they walked back out of the shop. Nor was Sebastian the only attractive man she’d ever met. There’d been very few men, three to be precise, who could claim some kind of effect on her. Ron, her childhood crush; Viktor, the boy who taught her about her own femininity and Draco, the man who showed her love, despair and hope. She had no explanation for Sebastian Dorgan other than the stress in her life altering the chemical balance in her brain and messing up with her hormones. He was older than Draco, but it didn’t show in his looks so much as in a sense of maturity, strikingly handsome and just as irritating and she was neither in love nor in lust with him but, she was experiencing some strange sensation that she couldn’t define. He seemed to elicit a strange fascination, drawing her in despite her desires to keep away.

He shifted, snapping her back from the meandering thoughts. Between her own curiosity and the frustration of lacking answers to her questions, she finally locked gazes with the man, intent on discovering the mystery behind his façade. Apparently, he had the same idea. He studied her, not with the insolence and arrogance of their previous encounter. The glint in his gaze was still there but somehow it didn’t feel as if he knew something and she didn’t. For the first time the ridge over his eyes transformed itself into a frown and his lips were now a thin line. His hands found the pockets of his tailored jacket. 

“What is it about you that makes me act like a stupid git?” Sebastian asked echoing the young witch’s reasonings which of course made her gasp inside.

_‘I could ask you the same question,’_ Hermione thought digging into her bottom lip. Since she had no answer to the inquiry, she waited for Sebastian to assist her. Again, great minds think alike, because it looked like he was expecting her to do just that. Coward!

Sebastian leaned on the bargain table facing the window and crossed his arms over his chest. Hermione leaned on the counter knotting her hands over her stomach. Both sighed at the same time, lifted their faces, held their gazes for no more than a second and shared a smile.

He turned around, away from Hermione and looked out the window. Tiny drops of rain sparkled on the glass; across the street the last wisps of light brushed the buildings’ rooftops.

“I’m usually more refined you know?” He rotated on his heels taking a couple of steps toward the counter.

“Really?” Hermione asked.

“Really,” he answered. “Four days ago, I was engaged.” No amusement or teasing in his voice. 

_‘Welcome to the club’_ Hermione thought. “I have a nineteen month old son.” She replied.

“Really?” His eyes remained fixed on hers.

“Really.” She answered challenging him with her gaze.

“The father?”  Sebastian asked expectantly.

“Around.” One word answers were getting rather tedious.

“Around as in?” he dug deeper.

Hermione sighed, being interrogated was a far cry from the apology she expected.

“Around as in, we have a son together.” Her cryptic response sparked a twinkle in his eyes.

“I see. How old are you?” 

The question puzzled Hermione, but brought all kinds of implications. The terms ‘robbing the cradle’ and ‘sugar daddy’ were just two phrases that flashed in her brain.

“Twenty one.” She restrained herself from sounding out an expletive.

“I’m thirty two, I...” Sebastian paused and rubbed the nape of his neck as he slowly approached a very taken aback witch. Hermione felt herself under a microscope of sorts and tried to hold her ground. Reaching the counter, Sebastian stood on the other side of it and looked at her with such an intensity she had no choice but to lower her gaze. 

“I think it was just male stupidity, a bruised ego and I had to prove I still had it.” His body language relaxed as if a mile of space had been placed between them.

As explanations went that wasn’t the best for her ego either and yet, Hermione could identify with Sebastian. She met his gaze knowing there was more to be said. “And?” Her question was met with a sheepish grin, the kind a shy little boy might display to his first crush.

“I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable yesterday,” he declared without taking his eyes off Hermione. The relief she felt at his apology quickly evaporated as he leaned in on the counter, that open space reduced to dust particles. “I’m not sorry I kissed you.”

The admission unnerved her as his eyes shifted back and forth over her. “You were in pigtails when I was already in uni. You’ve barely sort out your life and I have my career well on its way.” He sighed. “I just found out I’m not ambitious enough and, get this, I like children too much. You stood there, so fresh,” he leaned just a bit closer, “... and young and...” His ramblings made Hermione’s head spin.

“Too close to me,” she ended his sentence. He backed away, confusion spreading over his face. “Are you okay?” she asked. He could be drunk or worse. She didn’t smell anything on his breath, but he did look a little dazed. Once she established which, she’d have something to say about his last remark.

“No. Just making a fool of myself again.” The killer smile came back. His right hand found the back of his neck again. He glanced over his left shoulder, took a step back and leaned on the bookshelf while his hands returned to the pockets of his jacket. Lifting his gaze he looked at her. Apparently, it was her turn to speak.

Hermione hid her hands under the counter, playing nervously with bits of this and that which cluttered the space. Common sense dictated she run as far away from a new relationship as possible, regardless of what had just transpired between Draco and her. Sebastian was on the rebound and so was she. A bruised ego could influence one’s actions. She only needed to go back to a few days ago. Her first reaction, aside from the pain and anger, to Draco’s infidelity was the need to prove to herself she could be as shameless and wanton as any experienced lover. Which left her with what? Free to date? Experiment? As if dealing with single motherhood, moving to a new flat, The Prophet, Draco, work, her parents wasn’t enough already, did she need more turmoil in her life? Memories of Draco’s love, his enthusiasm for the new home, his concern for his son and the hollowness in her chest which only he could fill ––it couldn’t be ignored. Nor could her feelings for him and the expectation that she might somehow find a way to forgive him and make their relationship whole. And yet, even with all of this, she couldn’t bring herself to send Sebastian on his way. She’d never been this befuddled before. There was something missing in her life, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. Hermione lifted her gaze, Sebastian arched an eyebrow. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“You have a funny way of apologizing and that kiss...” Sebastian abandoned his place and stood right in front of Hermione as if either intrigued or hoping that another might follow.

“That kiss,” she swallowed and forced her eyes to look at his. “I’d rather you forget it because I certainly did.” _As of this moment,_ Hermione told herself

Sebastian’s hands aimed for her shoulders, but Hermione stepped back and folded her arms stubbornly. “Neither you nor I would be wise in pursuing any kind of relationship based on what you just told me and I admitted about the father of my child and the difficulty that could present. Revenge sex is not my style. You had your fun yesterday, you made an ass of yourself actually. Whatever you think is going to happen, won’t.” Sebastian’s poor attempt at a smile failed after her last words and he sank back, his shoulders falling defeated.

“Fair enough.” Sebastian tone had changed. “You are right but you’re also wrong. We both need time to sort ourselves out. I’ve met, talked, bumped into hundreds of women since Sophie and I broke our engagement, but I saw you and...” He inched his way closer, “I’m not talking about commitment, or moving in together or revenge sex Hermione. Would it be so bad if we go out to the movies or the theater or just a coffee around the corner?”

Hermione nodded her head. “Yes, it would Sebastian. Tempting as your offer might be, I can’t pretend going out with you wouldn’t be more than a couple of friends enjoying each other’s company because you and I know it to be otherwise.”

“We are going to see each other anyway,” he said.

“I understand that and I’m perfectly fine working with you on the shop, but if you can’t deal with that,” she shrugged her shoulders. “That’s just too bad.”

His lips twitched without engaging in a full smile, he nodded and sighed loudly, raking his fingers through his hair. “Have it your way Miss Granger, we’ll stick to drawings and designs for now. Shall we start?”


	39. Chapter 39

**Disclaimer : J K Rowling created and owns the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N:     _BrandedFaithfully_ rocks! Thanks for sharing your amazing talent as editor**

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**Chapter 39: And So It Begins.**

Organized chaos was the best way to describe the state of her parents’ home and her room in particular. Her nerves on the other hand had no organization and a lot of chaos. You could probably string them on a violin and play them they were so tight. Sebastian drove her home and that alone sent her nerves into the stratosphere. Hermione had accepted out of purely pragmatical reasons. It took more time than she thought to go through both shops and come up with a tentative plan. In fact, she thoroughly enjoyed watching Sebastian working at his trade and sparring with him about this idea or that concept. But, time flew, and Harry and Ginny were waiting and she wished to spend quality time with her son before handing him over to Draco so when Sebastian suggested taking her home, she said yes.

If only he weren’t such a gentleman! Sebastian insisted on escorting her to the door, assuring her he had no ulterior motives, yeah, right! Despite their earlier conversation, Hermione’s heart thumped the whole way home with the expectation that, for no other reason than pure physical attraction, he might pull the car over and grope her right there in the seat! But, a gentleman he was and before her hand reached for the key Mum was there and right behind her, Ginny. One look at the man beside her and Hermione all but heard the wheels in her mother’s head spinning while Ginny’s playful gaze and shameless survey of the gorgeous stranger, promised a not so subtle inquisition from her red-headed friend. Hermione counter-attacked with a swift introduction; Sebastian never made it inside the house. Not that it stopped him from introducing himself to Mum and Ginny as Hermione shoved him back to his car. Thanks heaven the adult males in the household were nowhere to be seen. She put on her best casual face as she walked in, but she was sure that the heat in her cheeks meant they had given her away.

In the quiet of the one and only bathroom, Hermione found solace from the chatter and commotion outside. John Albus splashed water at leisure, with all the enthusiasm of having his mother’s indulgence and undivided attention. He would sleep well tonight. As soon as Hermione slammed the car’s door on Sebastian’s face, she planted a kiss on her mum’s cheek, whispered _‘later’_ to her friend and rushed to find her son. She found John Albus in the garden with Harry who was running after the elated toddler with a certain degree of childhood innocence himself. Her dad sat on the steps, elbows resting on the one behind him, legs stretched, one ankle on top of the other, smiling. Toddler and wizard were oblivious to everything but their game. Hermione climbed down the steps and sat beside her father, leaning her head on his shoulder. Watching a carefree Harry Potter filled her heart with sorrow for the little boy whom, growing up, had a cupboard under the stairs as a room. His only family had been abusive and vindictive people who neglected, mistreated, and lied to him. The wizarding world wasn’t blameless either. It infuriated her, and she had plenty to say and do about it.

It was almost eight o’clock. Draco was due any minute. Harry and Draco were about to face each other for the first time in years. It was just another heart stopping event that had occurred  since she found Ginny standing in front of the The Last Page. John Albus rubbed his face. Her baby was tired. Wrapping the little boy in a too-big-for-his size fluffy towel, Hermione held him tight. How was she supposed to let him go? Stepping out and into the narrow hallway Hermione made her way to her bedroom. A crooked smile and a playful frown appeared on her face. Her room was all packed in neatly labeled boxes haphazardly placed all over the tiny room and around her bed. She couldn’t fault Harry and Ginny for using magic, but she was looking forward to a long night of hard work just to keep her mind off John Albus and Draco. Hermione dragged her feet to her bed. Gently, she deposited a half-asleep John Albus on it and carried on with getting his pyjamas on. So, focused on her task she neither heard the door bell ring nor the small rasping at her door until a hand patted her left shoulder.

“Hermione,” Ginny said softly, startling the young mother.

Hermione didn’t have to ask. Draco had come. Ginny’s soft amber gaze was filled with concern and sympathy. John Albus tugged at his mum’s shirt. Hermione lifted him up, bringing his tiny, warm body against her chest, wrapping both her arms around him. No voices could be heard outside. Ginny brushed John Albus’s blond locks as best she could, kissing his brow.

“Let’s go. It’s too quiet out there,” Ginny said squeezing Hermione’s arm. The brunette witch led the way.

Her eyes found Draco’s immediately and the urge to run into his arms was such she could almost feel her feet lifting and her whole body gliding toward him. For a few moments which felt like drawn out countless minutes, all her attention was focused on the blond wizard standing by the front door as everybody else faded into nothing but empty space.

“He’s asleep already.” Draco said.

She nodded, stealing a glance at Harry standing on her right. Ginny held her boyfriend’s right hand. Turning her head, Hermione saw her Mum and Dad standing by the door leading to the kitchen. Dad had his left arm around her Mum’s shoulders. Whether or not Draco was affected by the presence of her friends Hermione couldn’t tell. Draco’s focal point were her and John Albus, giving little mind to the four other people.

“Could I have a word with you?” Draco made his way to her bedroom without looking back. Mum said something under her breath and stormed back to the kitchen. Ginny leaned on Harry’s arm, looking expectantly at Hermione and with just a hint of relief and amusement.

“Pleasant as I remembered,” Harry finally spoke as his eyes settled on Hermione. “It just doesn’t add up.” Harry’s face threw Hermione a puzzled look. Hermione arched an eyebrow and stared at her friend.

“Meaning?” she asked, aware of something else other than censure in Harry’s tone. John Albus stirred and Draco was waiting.

Whatever it was, it’d have to wait. She passed by the kitchen refraining from glancing at her parents. Holding tight to her son she made her way to the room. The door was opened. Draco stood by the window turning his head as she entered. She closed the door behind her. Draco’s gaze took in the boxes scattered throughout the small room. Hermione sat on the bed, facing Draco. Her arms ached but she couldn’t let go of her son.

“Did he have his supper?” Draco asked softly. Brushing a few strands of hair away from his face, he approached the bed and sat on Hermione’s right side. All Hermione managed was a nod. Draco stared at her with the gentlest of gazes, all of his affection shifting from his son to her. His right hand cupped her face and his thumb stroked gently down her cheek. This wasn’t the kind of touch that came from foreplay, this was the kind of true affection, the kind that bruised you deep inside and left you aching for more. If he kissed her now, she’d break down and that was the last thing she wanted. Closing her eyes, she felt the sting of tears fast approaching as Draco’s arm took her by the shoulders encircling both mother and son in an embrace. All she could do was breathe. John Albus’s baby smell mingled with Draco’s distinctive cologne, the one she bought him after one of their huge fights during those months living together. She remembered with perfect accuracy that day. After the shouts and recriminations, furious, she escaped to Muggle London and wandered for hours, strolling through numerous shops. Distracted she found herself engulfed in a very enticing mist; a sales lady had just sprayed the empty space around her. The aroma reminded her of Draco, it was Draco. She bought it not caring about her dwindling bank account. They made up and she didn’t recall a day since that Draco hadn’t wore her gift. So much had happened since then!

“I was thinking,” Draco said, stroking John’s head, but looking directly at her. “Why don’t you come over for breakfast on Sunday and pick John Albus up?”

“Where are you taking him? Your flat?” She asked changing John Albus to her right side.

Draco rose from the bed and stood right in front of Hermione. She lifted her gaze. Draco half extended his arms aiming for John but Hermione turned around, got up and walked away toward the window. Draco let out a sigh.

“I don’t have a flat in London anymore. The house we have in Hogsmeade is perfect; besides, being close to Hogwarts is more convenient once school starts. John Albus can run and play without the constraints of the city. It is isolated and as far away from the town as possible. Wards and charms are in place. The Prophet’s spies won’t be able to invade our privacy.” Hermione was speechless for a minute or so, enough for Draco to roam through the room and find the overnight bag she had prepared for their son.

“You know about the article? You’re going back to Hogwarts?” Draco was doing it again, keeping her out, acting as if... a sense of panic overwhelmed her. As if they were no longer a couple which in theory was correct. That’s what she asked for, she just didn’t realize she had forfeited the right to ask or demand being included in his decisions or plans for the future. Dizzy and confused as ever, Hermione returned to the bed, kissed her son’s warm cheek and gently deposited him, face down on the soft mattress, took hold of one of the corners of the duvet and covered the baby with it. Not being able to lose physical contact with her son, Hermione returned to her spot beside him and placed her left hand on the baby’s back.

The mattress gave way to Draco’s weigh as he sat opposite Hermione at the foot of the bed. He watched their son sleep, she gazed at Draco’s profile. His right hand reached for their son’s brow. Gently, as if he was touching the most expensive and fragile crystal, Draco’s fingers brushed John Albus’s hair away from his angelic features. Hermione knew in that instant there was nothing Draco wouldn’t do for their son. Their eyes found each other, Hermione felt Draco’s fingers take hers.

“Come for breakfast on Sunday.” He spoke quietly, squeezing her hand, riveting her with those captivating eyes of his.

If only she could stop those images of Draco and that faceless woman from sneaking into her consciousness! If she could leave behind her pride and wounded ego! Tears threatened once again to break free. Lowering her gaze Hermione saw their hands tightly holding on to each other on top of their son’s tiny frame. Draco’s hand broke free, the mattress shifted again. She lifted her gaze; Draco took her face with both his hands and kissed her forehead. His thumbs caressed her face while his gaze, soft, peaceful like a moonlit, tranquil sea felt like a warm, soothing embrace.

“Think about it Hermione. We’ll be waiting for you.” One more caress and Draco perched the handbag on his right shoulder, leaned over, slowly and gently he picked his son up. His eyes locked in with hers for a moment and then, he Disapparated. Hermione’s face glistened with tears she could no longer restrain.

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She cried in silence, not bothering or caring about wiping the stream of tears flowing all over her face. Her gaze fixed on the little depression on her bed. Her mind filled with questions and doubts and the image of her son in his father’s arms disappearing into thin air. Did he awake during Disapparation? Was he scared? Did he ask for Mummy? More tears. A soft knock on the door announced Ginny’s presence, Hermione could see her from the corner of her eye. Ginny approached from behind her took a pillow and positioned it against the headboard. Lowering herself to the bed, Ginny leaned on the pillow without saying a word.

After a few minutes, Hermione lifted her eyes and faced her friend. Ginny appeared to be waiting for her to speak, but Hermione couldn’t without losing what little control she had regained.

“You’ll see him in a little over a day, Hermione,” Ginny said warmly. “Malfoy seems to care about John a great deal.” Ginny shook her head as she said, “I can’t believe I’m going to say this but...he looks sorry for what he did. I mean, Merlin! He all but devoured you out there.”

The playful glint in Ginny’s gaze bothered Hermione. Her baby had been taken away from her! And now Ginny was taking Draco’s side.

“You do realize you sound as if you are defending Draco Malfoy.” Hermione said dryly.

“Right; the father of your baby if I recall correctly. That, plus the man you keep shagging every chance you get.” Ginny retorted calmly.

“No need to be crass about it.” Hermione protested. Seconds ticked by before she spoke again. “I can’t stop thinking about John Albus.” Her face welcomed more tears, angrily she wiped them away. As her gaze found Ginny’s she couldn’t  help it and said, “he slept with another woman Ginny.”

Hermione could feel her walls tumbling down. She was tired, mentally and emotionally drained. “He ran to her...he went and looked for her.” Hermione’s voice faltered. “I can’t get it out of my mind, the vision of him kissing her, undressing her...” All her pent up frustration and fears came out in between pauses as she persisted in reigning in her emotions but to no avail, her eyes pooled with tears. Hermione prowled the room, arms tight around her chest, talking to Ginny but not really looking at her. She didn’t even noticed Ginny taking out her wand to cast the Imperturbable Charm on the door. Candice Granger was doing a lot of crying in the lounge, she doubted Hermione’s rant would improve Mrs. Granger’s state of mind. Having made a quiet retreat into the kitchen, Harry persuaded his girlfriend to go and check on Hermione while he mumbled something about Hermione’s request, promising to be back soon. Ginny decided to forgo the questions until a more convenient time.

“I thought I could put it aside, work out our differences... Ignore the fact that he wouldn’t even tell me why he did it. So what do I do instead? I said we needed space! What was his answer? _‘We should start all over again.’_ I don’t want to start anything! I want to understand! I want him to talk to me for fuck’s sake! He bought a house and it’s beautiful. He’s going back to Hogwarts. He knows about the article and... and then along comes Sebastian, I came this close,” her thumb and index finger almost touched, “to taking him up to my flat and...I hate feeling like this! I love the shop; I’d like to blow The Prophet to pieces. I want to go back to Hogwarts, help fix that stupid world of ours but why do I have to do it right this second? I want the world to stop for one fucking second and let me catch my breath!” Gasping for air, Hermione slid to the floor by the side of the bed and brought her knees to her chin as her arms rounded her legs. Silent tears glistened on her face.

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Ginny’s mind struggled to make heads and tails of what she just heard. She’d been busy with the shop, her studies and Harry. Last time she was at the Granger’s house, five days ago, Hermione learnt Draco had slept with another woman. So, it was expected that Hermione would be upset and stressed. As for the rest? Draco and Hermione had broken up? Hermione was going back to Hogwarts? Hermione had feelings for Sebastian? Glancing at the door Ginny sensed she had not much time until either Harry or one of Hermione’s parents came in.

“I think you should start from the beginning Hermione and I also think I should spend the night with you.” Coming down from the bed, Ginny sat beside Hermione, extended her legs, crossing the right ankle over the left one, while her right hand patted Hermione’s intertwined hands. Hermione leaned her head back on the edge of the mattress, closed her eyes and extended her legs.

“What about Harry?” Hermione asked, massaging her temple.

“Ron is home, Harry is going to spend the night at The Burrow. Besides you’d be doing me a favour.” Hermione opened her eyes and turned them toward Ginny.

“Why? Did you have a row with Harry? Is it Ron?” Hermione asked, drying her face with the bottom of her shirt. Ginny laughed quietly, content that Hermione’s curiosity and concern for her friends was currently distracting her from her own problems.

“I didn’t come home yesterday; I spent the night at Grimmauld Place. I told Mum we’d be back no later than a little after midnight, but I fell asleep.” Ginny said as she turned and crossed her legs. Hermione imitated her friend. Both witches faced each other.

“Your Mum must have been furious!” Hermione exclaimed as her right hand played with the carpet’s thread

“She is and she isn’t, weird, and Harry...well, I haven’t had a chance to ask Harry what he said to her, but...I don’t know.” Ginny said. “I went back to the shop. Ron...”

“Ron! Oh, I can imagine your brother’s reaction.” Hermione said sourly.

“Ron was snoring in the room next door.” Ginny explained.

“And?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide now as if expecting a tale of shouting matches and fists flailing.

“And nothing. He went to bed hours before we finished with my potion and in the morning Ron had his breakfast and we had a nice chat and then I left for the shop.” Ron’s reaction surprised her too.

“Wait. We are talking about the same person aren’t we? Tall, red-head, stupid git who puts his foot in his mouth on a regular basis?”

Ginny nodded and Hermione continued her questions, “He didn’t demand an explanation, threatened Harry or try to drag you back to The Burrow?”

Ginny smiled, Hermione’s frown turned more confused. “He was as relaxed as I’ve ever seen him. He even joked about it.” Ginny could tell Hermione doubted very much Ron could react any other way.

“So, nothing happened between you and Harry?” Hermione asked.

“We slept with our clothes on, as for nothing happening between us...” Ginny left the rest unsaid but Hermione must have seen the silly expression on her face.

“Ginny...” Hermione dragged her words as she prompted her friend to explain herself.

“Things are improving.” Ginny answered with a wide smile.

“How exactly are they improving?” Hermione asked, regarding Ginny curiously.

“We are not sleeping together if that’s what you’re asking... Harry...” Ginny wasn’t one to shy away from uncomfortable situations, and yet she could feel her face warming up as some of those highly arousing encounters with her boyfriend replayed on her head. “Let’s just say I’m very satisfied with Harry’s improvement, very satisfied.” The young witch grinned from ear to ear.

“You’re incorrigible!” Hermione replied.

“And you have been busy with drop dead gorgeous Sebastian, haven’t you?” Ginny asked examining Hermione’s reaction closely.

The brunette lowered her gaze. “He’s an architect and he’s going to design the new addition to the shop.” Ginny heard the hesitancy in Hermione’s voice.

“And you almost shagged him, why? To get back at Malfoy?”

Hermione’s response came swiftly. “We only kissed, he kissed me and nothing more! I love Draco, I...I wish...” Hermione avoided Ginny’s gaze again. Rising, she glanced around and defeated lowered herself to the bed, facing the door. “Why did Draco do it? I feel guilty because of one kiss, one kiss! He had sex with a woman!”

Lifting herself from the floor Ginny sat next to Hermione.

“Did you tell him about the kiss?” By the look in Hermione’s angered gaze the question had landed the red-headed witch in trouble. 

“He slept with another woman Ginny! He put on that horrible display on Friday and rather than coming back and apologize he got pissed and had sex with...a whore! Oh! He told me the truth, very thoughtful of him. He had no choice, he knew we had been at The Manor and that somehow I found out about it. Did he say sorry? No! He surprised me with flowers and a cleaned flat, a gorgeous house in Hogsmeade and a delicious meal. He’s still trying to get what he wants which is me as his wife and both back to Hogwarts and the wizarding world but not once did he say sorry or explained to me why he’d cheated on me! So, no I didn’t tell Draco Malfoy about a meaningless kiss because you can’t possibly compare it to what he did!” Ginny could hear the doubt and hurt in Hermione’s voice.

The way that Hermione described Draco’s actions made her stop and think of another person who was acting the same way. There was a first for everything and Ginny was experiencing one of those moments thanks to her brother Ron. Actions could say more about one’s state of mind than words. For instance, Ron made light of finding out his little sister had spend the night at her boyfriend’s place. Not too long ago Ginny kissing a bloke, even his best mate would have Ron close to self-inflicted combustion. Never before had Ron shown as much interest in her life as during the hour long conversation in Harry’s kitchen; nor had she been able to ask any questions about his current life working alongside their brother Charlie. They laughed and joked about his many adventures in Romania. To her surprise he went as far as divulging the one thing he disliked about it: a girl, apparently his superior and a _‘sodding bitch’_. But it was his attitude toward their mother which clearly indicated to his younger sibling what he couldn’t express in words. Ron’s tender and small loving gestures were the best manifestation of his sudden change. Claiming to be hungry when he had just had breakfast, asking Mum to mend his clothes, hanging around the kitchen listening patiently to their mother, allowing Mum to ask as many intrusive questions as only Molly Weasley could. There was such a thing as making up for past offenses without the benefit of the spoken word. In Ron’s case, his actions couldn’t be more clearer.  All of which made Ginny think about Draco Malfoy.

_‘Here goes nothing.’_ She thought. “Are you familiar with the phrase ‘actions speak louder than words’?” If staring at someone could kill, she’d be a dead witch, but she continued on determined to get her point across. “Why fix your flat if he wants you back in the wizarding world?” Taking advantage of Hermione’s sudden lost of speech Ginny added, “You ended it with Malfoy, he accepted it. He told you the truth, he could have lied or denied the whole thing. He is not going to take John Albus away and he is not dragging you to The Ministry or Hogwarts. Why?”

Hermione’s gaze smoldered Ginny to ashes. Fine, let her be angry. A vulnerable, defeated Hermione scared the youngest of the Weasleys. Hermione was at her best when angry or challenged. Questions to which Hermione had no answer wounded her pride; questions to which she knew the answer but meant she had been wrong all along annoyed the smartest witch of her age beyond measure. Holding on to Hermione’s gaze Ginny confirmed that the latter was true. Being right felt jolly good! Coming to a Malfoy’s defense was downright madness and yet, that’s exactly what she had done. If Hermione didn’t kill her, Harry and Ron would, and that would happen right after she had her head examined at St. Mungo’s.

Ginny leaned on her elbows, deliberately and defiantly locking gazes with Hermione. Arms folded furiously and stubbornly across the span of her chest, Hermione stood looking down at Ginny like a volcano ready to blow its top. Ginny smirked, “I’m waiting. Aren’t you going to answer? Unless...,” Ginny looked straight into Hermione’s eyes. “You can’t or won’t answer my questions. That’s alright. I’ll save you the trouble.” Rising from the bed, Ginny stared at Hermione’s troubled, indignant and alarmed orbs.

“It looks to me like Draco Malfoy has been apologizing to you for some time now. Not only that, he is giving you as much space and time as you need to figure out what you want to do with your life and with him. You might not want to accept or admit it, but that’s what it looks like. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but you are afraid that by the time you figured it out and are ready to forgive him, he might not be around to be forgiven.” For a nineteen year old witch Ginny thought she hadn’t done so badly in her analysis of the situation. Hermione, apparently, was of the same opinion with a tiny difference. Miss know-it-all’s wide-eyed, raving mad expression and searing gaze told Ginny now would be a good time for the expected knock on the door.

Remarkably enough, that’s what happened just as Hermione pointed her right index finger at her and opened her mouth to respond. Ginny removed the Imperturbable Charm as Hermione tried to let off steam and turned the knob.

“All right you two?” John asked wearily. Hermione walked into his arms. “John Albus is gone?” he asked. Hermione nodded.

“I’d better go. Is Harry back?” Ginny asked softly. Hermione should be with her parents.

Leaving the comfort of her father’s embrace Hermione gave Ginny one her scolding glances. “You said you’d spend the night with me.”

“I thought...” That’s all Ginny managed to say.

“You are staying.” Hermione ordered.

Ginny rolled her smiling eyes. “If you insist and it isn’t any trouble.”

“No trouble at all Ginny. Harry came back a couple of minutes ago.” Hermione’s dad sounded less subdued than when he first came in.

As the three of them made their way to the lounge Hermione asked Ginny where Harry had gone.

Shrugging her shoulders, Ginny answered. “He said you asked him to do something, didn’t you?”

Hermione said nothing until she saw Harry. Her steps were brisk and energetic as she planted herself in front of the wizard, who immediately sprang from the couch avoiding looking into Hermione’s thunderous irises.

“Where have you been?” Hermione asked sharply.

“I––Uh-oh–– I...” Obviously nervous, Harry’s hand brushed his hair, avoiding Hermione’s narrowed eyes.

“You followed him, didn’t you?” Harry squirmed on his spot. Ginny walked over to him and looked at her boyfriend and friend, both of which exchanged knowing glances.

“What am I missing?” Ginny asked them adding her scowl in the mix.

“Harry, what did you find out?” Hermione looked quite the menacing witch. “Something you said earlier, about it not making sense. What is it?” Hermione came closer to Harry. The young wizard dropped with a soft thud on the couch.

Four pair of expectant eyes stared at him. Hermione had taken a spot on the small coffee table looking fixedly at Harry. Ginny wondered about Harry’s hesitancy. Her boyfriend looked guilty.

“I thought I’d wait for Malfoy at The Aisling’s. He didn’t show up so I came back.” Both witches exchanged glances. Harry was hiding something. 

“What else have you found out?” Judging by Hermione’s tone Harry was in deep trouble.

“Not much.” Harry was stalling. Hermione slapped him over the head.

“Hermione!” Candice yelled. “What’s got into you? Let the boy speak!”

“Better you than me, Harry.” Ginny laughed garnering an impatient gaze from Hermione. “But now I’m intrigued. Do tell Harry, what is Draco Malfoy up to these days?”

“Has he been with that woman again?” Hermione asked.

“No!” Harry scurried to the edge of the couch. “The only women he’s been around are the Aisling girls.”

“Women, how many are they?” Hermione asked suspiciously.

“Well, there’s the mother and the four girls and the father, of course.” Harry’s gaze wandered throughout the room before his eyes found John Granger’s smiling face.

“I met Nicky. If all the Aisling girls are anything like her––” Candice elbowed her husband.

“I followed them on my broom. I wasn’t expecting Malfoy to get into a car with a Muggle!” Harry sighed and finally they all got to hear about everything he witnessed and managed to hear.

Suffice to say the more Harry divulged about his findings the more incredulous the expressions of all present became. Hermione listened without interrupting or asking questions. Ginny, on the other hand, would rather take a good look at those _‘girls’._ Great minds think alike because that was precisely what Hermione suggested.

“Draco is going to have dinner with them tomorrow. We’re going.” It sounded more like an order not an invitation coming from a resolute Hermione.

“Hermione, we can’t possibly invite ourselves to dinner!” Harry protested.

“Who said we are? You’re bringing your Invisibility Cloak. I want to see what you and my Dad find so amusing about those people.” Ginny couldn’t agree more!

 

 

 


	40. Chapter 40

**Disclaimer: J K Rowling created and owns the Harry Potter series.**

**A/N: Thank you _BrandedFaithfully for your help._**

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**Chapter 40: Time To Grow Up.**  
  
With a loud sigh of relief, Draco closed his eyes and thanked every celestial being for the quiet surrounding him. He’d never been more petrified or lost than when he heard John Albus’s sobs, more like desperate cries demanding to be with his mother. Nor could he believe the astonishing magic displayed right in front of his eyes. The devastation it left behind could easily be blamed on two trolls having it out, instead of the tantrums of the tiny person sleeping peacefully on his chest. When Hermione told him about their son’s magic powers it came as a surprise not because Draco doubted John Albus’s magical make up but rather because he wasn’t expecting it to manifest itself so soon. Then again, what did he know about magical children? Nothing. He had met his son for the first time three weeks ago. They should have thought this weekend through a bit more practically. He would never put his son through this ordeal ever again which begged the question. What was he supposed to do if the same happen again? Owl Hermione? Apparate right at her front door and admit defeat? Was this her plan all along? Draco shook his head, as his right hand gently caressed his son’s back. She let John Albus go and it was evident to him that it tore Hermione apart. That, in turn, made him feel like a bastard but Hermione and her sense of justice would always prevail, no matter what. Besides, he was too selfish to deny himself the satisfaction of finally spending time with John Albus. Her response to his parchment made reference to the rightness of his request and of its good timing since Friday and Saturday were going to be hectic because she was moving into the flat. She even thanked him for his civility and his promise of contacting her the minute John Albus was in any discomfort. Well, an hour ago the scene which unfolded in his son’s room fitted the word ‘discomfort’ to a tee and beyond.

John Albus let out a small, quivering sigh. Draco shifted a little, making himself more comfortable. His right hand pulled the duvet over both of them. The empty space on his right, Hermione’s side, made him wonder if one day soon, he’d be able to reach out and hold her in his arms. It also reminded him of all that he had missed of his son’s life. Even before he was born, Draco would have liked to have been there as Hermione’s body changed as their son grew in her womb. He heard babies move constantly inside their mothers. Mrs. Aisling mentioned they even sucked their thumb and had the hiccups! And the birth, did it take long, was it too painful? Moments of passion, such as theirs, rarely come with rational thoughts of such consequences. He smiled recalling the event, but then just as quickly his thoughts shifted.

Hermione robbed him of all those memories. She came back at the end of his sentence to look for him, one week too late. For six months he thought he’d never see her again. Six months of torture from within and by the hands of the Dementors. The most important member of the Heroes of Hogwarts ran as fast and as far as she could from the shame and hatred her pregnancy would’ve elicited.

He listened to Hermione’s explanations. He understood, partially, the motives behind her decision. She in return listened to his explanation of what it had been like for him those six months in Azkaban. He even went as far as talking about his state of mind after he served his sentence but the fact still remained: down deep he resented Hermione for leaving without telling him about the baby. But as much as this fact hurt, Draco still felt blessed. To this day, he couldn’t believe he deserved Hermione Granger’s love; a fact which stopped him from voicing what her disappearance did to him. Small detail, a surmountable obstacle in the greater scheme of things compared to the present state of their relationship. He’d made a terrible mistake and so far had not only followed the meddlesome Aisling women’s advice but he had listened to his gut feeling, a first in his life. He’d win Hermione’s heart and trust again. For his sake, for his son’s sake, whatever time it took, how many setbacks awaited him, he’d be damned if he’d let the most wonderful treasure he ever found slip through his fingers. Draco closed his eyes. His son’s small, warm body was a reminder of what was at stake. As his eyelids, heavy with sleep, closed, his right hand reached out to the cold empty space beside him. 

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She’d miss this; mornings in her parents’ garden with a cup of steaming tea in her hands, shrouded by the calming quiet of a world still asleep. However, even with this peace, her heart thump thickly in her chest. No owl from Draco. Picturing her son’s tear stained face asking for Mummy kept her tense. He must miss her terribly. Had she given in too easily? Should John Albus go through this, week in and week out? Would he adjust to being alone with Draco? Would Draco adjust to being alone with him? Had everything, including her innocent little baby, taken a back seat because of her pride? Because she couldn’t forgive Draco? Ginny minced no words regarding her thoughts about Sebastian or the state of Hermione’s and Draco’s relationship. She’d never admit to Ginny that as the saying goes, _‘she had hit the nail on the head’_ at least a couple of times. Hermione’s face broke into a wary smile. The long night’s conversation had been the highlight of her day regardless of it being mostly about her turbid and chaotic life. It’d been a long time since she laughed as much as she did listening to Ginny’s stories about working with her brother George, her last year at Hogwarts or how close Molly had been of finding out her youngest daughter’s intention of becoming a Healer. It also warmed Hermione’s heart that Harry and Ginny were well on their way to a much deserved _happily ever after._ There were a few instances when Hermione gaped and gasped as Ginny recalled what not having sex with Harry truly meant! Ginny, unlike Harry, had no issues with Hermione’s decision of staying in the Muggle world. On the contrary, exploring and learning more about Muggles excited Ginny to no end. Not once was there any judgment or doubts in her comments either about the shop or Hermione’s not coming back to the wizarding world.

Everything they all had gone through and yet, Ginny had come out of it but with only a few bruises, in a matter of speaking. Fred’s death would always hurt, lost friends would be missed, the last battle’s images imbedded forever in her memory. However, her extraordinary ability to see beyond it, to move forward with such upbeat, almost childlike trust had made Hermione question if the proverbial tempest in a teapot would best describe her response to recent unexpected occurrences in her life. Based on the expert analysis of one Ginevra Molly Weasley, Hermione Granger ought to enjoy the ride, even if it meant starting all over again with Draco Malfoy. Easier said than done if one had to deal with a cheating boyfriend to which Ginny replied, _‘You are such a righteous, pompous, stubborn know-it-all witch!’_ Never in her wildest dreams would Hermione envision a Weasley defending a Malfoy but then again, such had been her life for the past few weeks.

The back door opened quietly; Hermione didn’t bother to glance back, she’d recognized her father’s footfalls anywhere. Sitting beside his daughter, John Granger kissed her forehead and wrapped her with one of the throws from the couch.

“Mum awake?” Hermione asked looking steadily into John’s loving eyes. 

“Nope, she is sound asleep. She’s tired.”  He took a sip from his cup which he held with both hands. Hermione snuggled against him. Mum must have had a rotten night, courtesy of her daughter.

“Isn’t it amazing how distance and time have no meaning when friends reunite? The three of you––,” John looked at Hermione and smiled as he finished his sentence, “have something special. I’m glad.”

Hermione thought about the one member missing in that equation: Ron. The longing and warmth which filled her heart left her thunderstruck and still she couldn’t stop the small smile from creeping in. They did have something special, she, Harry and Ron. Eons ago their friendship was as solid and true as it was possible, tested time and time again, mostly under trying circumstances, coming out triumphant and stronger; until it all disintegrated right in front of their eyes. Maybe that was what made it sting so intensely. It wasn’t just what he had done, it’s that she felt like she couldn’t rely on herself to determine who to trust and who not to, the self-reliance had been ripped from her with his betrayal.

Suddenly, her heart stopped for a second. Hermione stiffened at another image. She physically attacked Ron, with no reaction from him. She accused him of being behind the article and again, he didn’t offer a word in his own defense. Instead, he showed vulnerability and regret. For crying out loud! What was happening to her? 

“What happened to Ron?” Hermione rolled her eyes. It seemed that Dad and Ginny were on a mission. John’s arm came from behind her and held her tight against him. “Every letter you ever wrote had Harry and Ron in them. The three of you were inseparable, not only that, you’re war heroes now.” John lifted her chin and stared at her. Hermione lowered her eyelids, hiding, but Dad had seen enough. “He must have been very important to you if you can’t forgive him.”

That statement sent her into raging, angry combustion. Her teeth attacked her lower lip with savage fury; Dad watched the slaughter for a few seconds until his index finger put a stop to it. Hermione glared at her father, he kissed her brow. Hermione squared her shoulders and picked the cup beside her. From the corner of her eye she saw the annoying calm expression in her father’s features as he switched to a lighter tone.

“Ginny is a lot of fun. The only girl. Six brothers! It must have been a loud lot. Lots of laughter.” Hermione could hear the amusement in his words. Ginny and Harry had her parents grinning from ear to ear as tales of the Weasley siblings’ many antics were recalled with Fred and George monopolizing most of the stories. Thanks to her friends the tension and sadness of the day was forgotten for a while.

“I can’t imagine what they went through after Fred’s death. And Harry, dear Lord!” John sipped from his cup, placing it back on the concrete floor. Hermione let out a sigh.

“If it had to happen, I’m glad you had people like them to count on. Your resilience is––I have no words. Children going through such hell. It is the one thing I can’t and would never understand about the wizarding world. What I do know though, is that there are injuries which are easily healed. Others––” John blew out a gush of breath. Hermione faced him. It was the first time her Dad made reference to the war since she told them about most of what had occurred during the most painful year of her life. “At the end of the day darling, you all coped the best you knew how. The Weasleys had each other. Harry counted on them, but it was you and Ron he relied on the most and you, Hermione, you’d have been lost without them. They cherished and nurtured you; they spent hours, days by your side in the hospital. A troubled and orphaned boy thinks of you as a sister and Ron, the first boy you ever loved and whom I suspect felt the same, not only lost his brother but you. I’m beginning to understand, Dear, and it doesn’t mean I justified their actions. Certain deaths, physical or emotional, are harder to accept.”

John had a way of going right to the heart of the problem. Hermione wasn’t sure if she should feel like she was being chastised or vindicated. Her father loved her, but he truly made her think of her shortcomings. First, Ginny had interceded for Draco and now her father was doing the same for her friends. 

How could her father have possibly known about Ron’s romantic feelings for her or about her stupid crush on him? When her friends refused to listen to her, when they watched in silence as Ron lashed out, when she found herself alone, utterly and painfully aware that her world had disappeared from underneath her feet, she felt like she lost them for good, as if they had died. She ran away living with a void so deep it had almost killed her. So, is that what her Dad was alluding to? What pushed her over the edge? Was it her pregnancy, or Ron? Was it the same for him when she admitted her feelings for Draco? Hermione knew the answer to the question but holding to the last thread of pride she refused to acknowledge it. As friendship goes, Harry was top of the list, no doubt, that’s why she’d forgiven him. Ron? Her dad’s words echoed in her head. Ronald Weasley had been indeed someone special, so special to her that she couldn’t, wouldn’t forgive him? Her heart, no longer hardened by the memories of those last months before she left whispered what she so stubbornly refused to acknowledge. Hermione shook her head as questions and answers buzzed around her like pertinent, annoying flies. Ginny and her Dad had it all wrong, most of it anyway. John’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“I’ll miss these quiet times here in the garden, just you and I. My precious little girl––” His voice faltered. Hermione felt her eyes water. Voices from the kitchen reached them. John took Hermione’s face in his hands. “I wouldn’t let you go again if I had any doubt you were not ready. Remember what I said about my misgivings about Ginny and Harry?” She nodded. “How would I know if it was right to accept them back?” Hermione couldn’t answer. Her father’s intense, loving gaze entranced her and then he answered his own question. “It’s back, what was missing from your eyes. You’ve got it back sweetheart! Time to fly on your own, but you are not alone, remember that. I love you more than you’ll ever know, my wonderful, beautiful, stubborn little witch.”

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“Blimey, Hermione!” Harry stood in the middle of the small room looking at boxes upon boxes all marked, ‘Books.’ They covered one wall from top to bottom while a few more were disseminated in the tiny compartment of the storage place Hermione had been renting. “Why do you need to keep all of them? You’ve read them haven’t you? Where did you keep them all?”

“Some at home, some at school.” Hermione answered as she pushed some of the boxes toward the exit. “And they’re good books. I like to read them more than once, you know.”

“At school? Where? You shared a room.” Harry sat on a small stool. Hermione cocked an eyebrow and gifted him with her best _‘you’ve got to be kidding!’_ gaze. “Right, magic. Which reminds me, _Accio wand!”_

From the darkest corner of the room, a disturbance of sorts could be heard as if something or someone was struggling to dig its way out of confinement when suddenly, Hermione’s wand floated out and went straight to Harry’s hand.

“Here,” he offered the wand to Hermione who took it but not before glaring at a very pleased Harry. Without waiting for her response, the wizard proceeded to move boxes to the front, reducing their sizes. Expecting some sort of denial or heated objection from Hermione, she surprised him by imitating his efforts. Harry’s heart had a victory dance and his lips erupted in a satisfied grin. His eyes found Hermione’s; there was no reproach or irritation in them. She smiled tenderly, reduced the space between them and kissed him on both cheeks. Harry’s cheeks flushed as he smiled.

“I’m glad I decided to give us a chance Harry. Just remember that this,” she lifted the hand holding her wand, “is just a tool, I’m still Hermione Jean Granger with or without it.”

But she performed magic. Only people with magical powers could do that. Hermione was a witch whether she use her gift or not. Small steps, Harry reminded himself. The possibility of finishing her studies at Hogwarts delighted him. Hermione promised to deal with The Prophet and he couldn’t wait. Regardless of her intransigence on the subject of coming back, one thing had become clear to Harry: he’d never do anything to drive her away again. He’d push her gently because Hermione was the smartest witch of her age and she had a role to play in the reconstruction of their world. It’d be her decision and whatever it was, Hermione would always be the best friend he’d ever had.

“But you can’t deny this is one cool tool, right?” he asked, but when Hermione shook her head and curled her lips in a timid smile, hands landing on her hips, Harry decided to press the point. “Let me show you what we magical folk can do.” He tucked his wand in his back pocket and raised his brows at her with an undeniably cocky smile.

In an instant the interior of the small, stuffy room transformed itself into a whirlwind of objects hovering over them. Seconds later one by one the boxes and every other object were reduced to a size small enough to fit in one of two empty plastic bins stationed by the entrance. 

“Done!” Harry smirked, brushing his hands together. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.” Hermione stared at him not with awe but in the same manner she used to look at him whenever he said or did something annoyingly foolish. In fact, he could almost feel a slap over the head coming.

“This is supposed to impress me? You don’t need your wand to do magic? You stupid, stupid git!” Harry backed down and out of pure instinct gripped the handle of his wand, a furious Hermione brandishing a wand was a weapon of mass destruction. He wasn’t sure how his little demonstration had backfired, but he felt a lecture coming on. “All these years, depressed, getting plastered and you performed wandless magic?  You could have killed yourself or worse!” Hermione’s shouts echoed loudly.

Harry couldn’t help it; he smiled, no, grinned from ear to ear. Strange coincidence. Ginny and Hermione having the same reaction to his not so extraordinary magical powers, although there were more to them than he had let on. Both girls worried, mad at his carelessness. He was a lucky man indeed.

“Please tell me you never wandered outside! And wipe that smile off your face!!” She punched his arm, hard, Harry winced, but the grin came right back.

“What could’ve been worse than killing myself?” He was having too much fun provoking Hermione. “I thought you cared for me,” he pouted teasingly.

“What, you think Harry bloody Potter is above the law? What if Muggles saw you throwing hexes and curses while pissed out of your mind? What if...” She screamed louder. “Aaargh! When I think of what could’ve happened!” Calmer now, Hermione’s teary and anxious gaze warmed Harry’s heart. He had a feeling this outburst wasn’t about magic and stepped closer, opening his arms.

“But it didn’t happen and I’m fine. It’s over Hermione.” She welcomed his embrace, sagged in his arms. “I still have nightmares,” he admitted shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t think I’ll ever be free of them but,” he tightened his arms around her, “the darkness is gone and this time I won’t let it in again.”

Harry felt the tension leaving her body; her fingers crawled back and forth on his back. Lifting her face, Hermione stared at him, probed his soul, as if his words required confirmation. Her eyes sparkled with understanding and relief. She leaned her head on his chest again.

“I don’t want to lose you Harry. When I think of you alone in that horrible place, on the floor, all that Firewhiskey in your system, all that destruction around you. Oh, Harry! How could they just leave you to cope on your own?” Her gentle words were laced with resentment and anger. “Who is taking care of the victims? How can they move on so easily and forget about them?”

Harry saw his opening and took it. “Where do you think we should start? More than three years have passed.” He wasn’t sure where the statement had come from, but he blurted it out easily as if knowing it was the right thing to say. Hermione raised her gaze and Harry’s heart performed another victory dance. She had the look of one who is giving serious thought to an idea. He wondered where the impulse to answer her challenge had come from.

“The obvious place is The Ministry.” Hermione disentangled herself from Harry’s arms, stepped back and studied Harry from head to toe. “You really mean it Harry?” she asked. “You want to help? How?”

“I don’t know, I just thought of it.” It was the truth, out of nowhere the words just came out and the more he thought about the hundreds of victims, magical and Muggles, the more he liked the notion of offering some assistance to the victims of the war.

“I’ll go to Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall must have information about the kids from our year and their families. You and I can visit The Ministry.” He was eager to start.

“Harry,” Hermione’s worried tone alerted the young man, “You sure you’re up to this?”

“I honestly don’t know Hermione but you’re correct.” He felt it in his bones, he was on to something. “You and I are in the best position to help, I don’t know how but we must, I must.”

Hermione’s expression hid nothing from her friend. There was concern and a hint of sorrow, probably for the dozens if not hundreds of faceless victims; but above all what Harry witnessed was Hermione Granger’s brain at work. Her bottom lip accepted her teeth’s brutality with eagerness, her eyebrows knitted together, her eyes shined, darting here and there as if looking for something misplaced or lost. Once she was on to something she wouldn’t let go. This time it wasn’t books and parchments she was going through in search of an answer or a lead; it was experience and her undeniable sense of justice. She’d gone through her own personal horror after the war; she knew what it was like. Harry waited expectantly.

“Harry,” arms across her chest, Hermione examined her friend again, “you might not be as ready as you think. Once we start it’ll be like pouring salt into a not yet healed wound. A whole new can of worms is going to be opened. You are going to relive the horror over and over again. You heard about the attacks on Voldemort’s sympathizers. Is it under control? We’re talking about you, Harry Potter coming to the rescue again. It will mean you in the spotlight, your every move, every word under scrutiny again.” Her concerns didn’t phase him for he knew he was emotionally much stronger now and his age added to his confidence and maturity. Instead, the concerns fell on her. She’d be in the same position. Harry looked at her bright eyes and for few moments the surge of adrenaline abated. He felt the rightness of his decision but he wasn’t so sure he should drag Hermione along and suddenly second guessed his once brilliant idea.

“It’s been a long time since I felt this excited Hermione. I mean, who would have thought that three minutes ago, I’d feel this different. I need to do this and you,”  he glanced around the almost empty space and said, “have your own path to follow.”

“I thought we––” Harry shook his head, ignoring Hermione’s pleading tone.

“I was just being selfish Hermione. I always want you with me in any endeavor, but I’m stronger now I could manage this on my own.You’re starting a new life; you have your son, the shop and Malfoy to worry about.” Hermione blew out an angry breath.

“Listen to me Harry Potter,” she started to scold him in what Harry remembered as her Professor McGonagall’s best imitation. “I will not stand by while you try to save the world, once again, on your own. Just for your information I’ve been thinking about the subject for a while.”

“Hermione––” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

“No need to worry about me or about John Albus. I’m angry Harry, furious actually. There is a little boy with no one to talk to. His parents are in Azkaban. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t feel ashamed of who he thinks he is because of what his parents had done. How many are out there Harry? You honestly think I can walk away from Tim or his grandmother?” Hermione panted as she finished her passionate discourse.

Harry was confused, but needed a minute to absorb her words. Sizing each other up the two wizards explored each other’s features. Harry’s hand brushed his rebellious hair. Hermione tightened her arms around her waist. This new Hermione baffled him. There they were, ready to take her things back to her new flat in Muggle London, so that she could be closer to the bookshop. More than a job, she genuinely loves working there. She is also a young mother, a witch whom just a few minutes ago reiterated her decision to stay and live among Muggles as a Muggle and yet, she didn’t deny the fact that she was thinking of finishing her seventh years at Hogwarts or that she intended to deal with The Prophet and now this.

“Who is Tim?” he asked, finally replaying her soliloquy in his head.

“A third year Slytherin boy I met during my trip to Hogsmeade and don’t try to change the subject,” she said dryly.

“Hermione you are way too busy right now, you’re only human not superwoman you know?” he said teasingly which resulted in another arched brow from the young witch. “That can of worms you’re talking about, well, it applies to you too. You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?” he asked quietly.

Hermione squared her shoulders, her wand held tight, parallel to her right thigh, her gaze darkened. For a moment Harry recalled the last time they fought side by side at Hogwarts. She stood exactly like that as Voldemort’s forces marched on the sacred grounds of their beloved school. A warrior princess in ragged jeans, torn shirt and bloodied face, staring at death straight in its cold, dark eyes. She’d never been more beautiful or more vulnerable at the same time, the perfect embodiment of the true heroine.

“If you’re asking me to walk away from a fight and a just one at that, you are sadly mistaken. I ran away and hid like a coward, I won’t dwell on the merits of my decision.” She placed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m done hiding and I’m most certainly not running away from The Ministry, The Prophet or abandoning children like Tim,” she said bravely and full of confidence.

Taking a last look around at the nearly empty room, Harry sighed softly, gazed into Hermione’s impatient eyes and smiled. “Well, if we are going to spy on your boyfriend we better get going,” he said as he took Hermione by the shoulders. Locking gazes with a still sulking witch, Harry widened his smile. “After we come back, we’ll talk about this brilliant idea of mine.”

Hermione snorted. Picking up the two small bins, she placed them inside her backpack, stepped out of the room and locked it. “I’m not spying on Draco,” she replied rather defensively, “I’m gathering information and it is our idea.”

Walking towards her dad’s car, Harry laughed under his breath. “Whatever you say, Hermione.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Disclaimer: J K Rowling created and owns the Harry Potter series**

**A/N : To _BrandedFaithfully_ , you're amazing! Thank you!**

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**Chapter 41: Did You Say Girls?**

Bless magic and her persistent friends. The flat looked absolutely brilliant! Cozy, warm and hers even if she didn’t outright own it. Her parents had never seen magic in action, not like this, not so much of it. Both considered magic a quick fix, a way to avoid physical labour no matter how insignificant. Today,  however, the three young wizards dazzled the two adults with their playful display of their powers and, another surprise, Mum and Dad enjoyed it! Not only that, they’d shown interest in the inner workings of magic, asking all sorts of questions. At Hermione’s insistence, supper was prepared without magic. Her anxiety at the prospect of seeing her son and Draco was wrecking havoc with her nerves and cooking was just the right outlet since everything else had been done magically.

“Call me the minute you’re back,” Candice said as the Grangers prepared to go home. They were in her bedroom. Dad took her mother’s jacket. “This is silly Hermione, what is it you want to accomplish by sneaking around their house?”  Candice asked slightly crossed.

“Because Dad and Harry are hiding something, or haven’t you noticed your husband’s face when he mentions that Nicky?” There it was again, the silly, playful and mischievous grin on her father’s features, who made no attempt to hide it from either woman.

Mum slid into her jacket, glancing back at her husband. Dad shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Mum frowned and stared at her husband closely. “How old did you say she is?” 

“I didn’t,” he answered as he opened the door. “All I said was that Nicky Aisling was an interesting, beautiful woman and,” he kissed his daughter and then faced both his wife and Hermione, “I agree with your mother, this is silly and you,” he directed his words at his wife, “should know by now I am madly, passionately in love with you, I can prove it in a matter of minutes if we ever leave.” He kissed his wife swiftly and left the bedroom.

Mum blushed and Hermione smiled as she gently pushed her toward the door. John and Candice were having a renaissance of sorts in their relationship. Maybe it was a good thing she had decided to move out, and if she had her way soon both would go back to practicing dentistry.

The moment her parents left, Hermione rushed Harry to take her to the Aisling’s place. As much as she disliked Apparation, Hermione couldn’t think of a faster method to get there. And so, there they were, Harry, Ginny and a very anxious Hermione, standing in front of a rather shabby little house. Under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak the three wizards stepped into the street. Following the sound of voices coming from the back of the house, the three friends made their way through the small alley on the left side and turned the corner where a small fenced garden greeted them. The back door which led to the garden was opened. Hermione could see the stream of light flowing from it. Laughter erupted from inside. The sounds coming from within the home were an amalgamation of people talking and cutlery clashing with plates. The door was flanked by two small windows; Hermione chose the one closest to her. Glancing back to Harry and Ginny, she straightened her back and looked through the window. Hermione stilled. Draco and John Albus were there.

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John Albus smiled for the first time that day and Draco’s heart wept with relief and remorse. It had been a long day for both of them. Not a second after John opened his eyes and found his father’s grey, anxious irises instead of his mother’s, his little face seemed pale. Draco had expected tears and rage, but instead it was like all life had gone out of his child. John Albus clung to him whimpering softly. Loss of physical contact with his father was almost impossible. John held tight to his father as if his life depended on it.

Draco talked to him constantly, describing what he was doing, giving assurances to John that everything was alright. Undressing and dressing John was nothing like the Muggle books he read. It was easier than he anticipated. In fact he followed his son’s lead. The little boy attempted to take his shirt off and Draco helped him, same with the other half of his pyjamas. The only challenging part: taking John’s soiled nappies off and putting on new ones. Draco held his breath and swore under his breath. No Malfoy father had ever been forced to engage in any activity related to the rearing of their offspring; that’s what house elves were for, weren’t they? However, the emotional state of his son was such that Draco abstained from using magic or using the services of the house elves he brought from the Manor. He ordered Casper and Biddy to stay out of sight. His son had been raised as a Muggle, he knew nothing of magical creatures and Draco had to admit house elves weren’t pleasant to look at. His instructions to Casper and Biddy the night before were to clean the mess John Albus’s fit of rage created in his room and have breakfast ready as soon as the Malfoy men were up the next morning.

John barely touched his cereal and refused to sit anywhere but on his dad’s lap. He never asked for Mummy, there was no need because Draco could see the questions in his pained, confused expression. Desperate, the young father took refuge in the woods surrounding his property. A long walk would distract them both. At first, John snuggled on his father’s chest, showing no interest in what he saw or heard. Eventually John lifted his head and for a few moments some of the dullness in his eyes disappeared. A deer had caught his attention. Father and son shared the moment and after the animal moved on, John locked gazes with his dad and then put his little arms around Draco’s neck, resting his head on his shoulders. Draco tightened his hold on his son and closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “I love you, son,” Draco whispered. John responded, _“_ Go Daddy.”From then on their walk became a much more enjoyable experience, although John refused to leave his father’s arms.

On the way back, John fell asleep. In an act of desperation Draco packed his son’s bag, took the sleeping boy in his arms and Disapparated. As his hand knocked on the door, Draco was reminded of that fateful day when in a similar act of desolation and having no one to turn to, Nick and Maggie Aisling welcomed him without questions or judgment. To this day, Draco couldn’t explain the reason for their generosity or the strange pull they had on him. When the door opened and Gabriella’s broad smile greeted him, Draco felt safe, relieved; as if a dark veil had lifted; as if he had come home.

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It appeared they had just finished supper. An older man and a young girl sat at the table. Hermione assumed the two women bustling around the tiny kitchen were mother and daughter. Draco sat at the table with his back to the door with John Albus on his father’s lap, holding on to his toy dinosaur. A barrage of emotions engulfed her. She so wished to hold her son in her arms! Draco kissed the baby’s brow and the little boy turned his face toward his father; leaning back and resting his head on his dad’s torso, John Albus lifted his left hand and caressed his father’s face. Someone must have said something funny; laughter erupted again. She noticed Draco’s guarded features as the younger girl said something to John Albus. The missing members of the Aisling household came in, smiling and talking, ruffling Draco’s hair. Hermione’s eyes moved swiftly from one female member of the Aisling family to the other. Warning bells echoed within her; those were not ‘girls’ and Harry owed her an explanation. Pivoting on her heels, she grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him to the back of the garden and behind the small shed. Ginny gasped as the Invisibility Cloak, still in Harry’s grip, slipped off and left her exposed but she recovered quickly. Hiding just as Hermione had done before, the young witch lifted herself up from her crouching position and peeked through the window. A few seconds after, her steps followed Hermione’s to the back of the shed. Unlike Hermione and Harry who had the advantage of the cloak she took a more cautious path on her way behind the shed.

“Answer me Harry!” Hermione whispered through gritted teeth.

“What do you want me to tell you?” Harry sounded panicked and clearly confused.

“For starters why didn’t you tell me the minute you found out about Draco’s whereabouts?” From the corner of her eye Hermione could see Ginny standing beside her. Hands on her hips, Ginny waited for Harry’s answer.

“I told you everything yesterday!” Harry glanced back to the house as he answered. Taking a single step toward the two witches he made sure he was out of sight behind the very small shed.

It was hard to make out his expression in the dark. However, Hermione detected the unmistakable guilt in his hushed tone and she could tell by Ginny’s body language that she wasn’t alone as far as the conclusion they both came up once they took a good look at the Aisling ‘girls’.

“You’ve been spying on them,” she pointed at the house as if the entire family consisted of only pretty girls, “... not on Draco!” Hermione hissed.

“Harry,” Ginny made her voice softer, almost impossible to hear, and yet Hermione detected the underlying threat as she approached her boyfriend. Harry moved to Hermione’s right, glanced over his shoulder and leaned on the fence. They were under the tree which served as a sort of an umbrella for the tiny structure. “Left a few details out of your report, didn’t you?” Harry’s girlfriend asked in a most menacing voice.

The silence that followed granted Hermione enough time to realize she was squandering precious time. “You two stay here. Harry, let me have the cloak.”

“I’m going with you,” said Ginny.

“Wait!” Harry took the cloak back. “I want to know what you two are on about?” Ginny’s response was swift.

“They’re bloody gorgeous, that’s what!” Ginny shoved Harry against the fence. “And you––,” she reduced the distance to no more than a few millimetres from his face, “were only too happy to keep on spying at them every chance you got.”

Harry expression was completely innocent. “Hermione asked me––,” Ginny wrapped herself with the cloak.

“Shut it Harry, it took you four days to tell her! Let’s go Hermione.”  Ginny wrapped herself with the cloak.

Hermione was about to get under the cloak when Harry took both her and Ginny by their arms and pushed them farther back  into the corner. “Sssh,” he urged, “somebody’s coming.” He flung the cloak on top of them.

It was impossible to know who it was. Huddled under the cloak’s protection, Hermione strained her ears. At first, she thought Harry imagined it but then she heard it. Without thinking about it she took a few careful steps toward the edge of the shed, forcing Harry and Ginny to trail after her.

“Not bad for a bunch of Muggles, aren’t they mate?” His voice was tender and devoid of any disdain in spite of his words. “You should give them a chance son.”

So close and yet, she couldn’t run to them and she wanted it so badly! Draco was swaying, rocking John Albus. The baby’s head rested on his father’s right shoulder, one of his arms at the back of Draco’s neck while his little fingers buried themselves in his father’s platinum hair. Draco caressed John’s back.

“I know the women are––,” Draco shifted John Albus to his left, “well, you saw it. Bold and so bloody opinionated.” The amusement and affectionate tone in his words shocked Hermione.

“I’ve never imagined Muggles could be––,” Hermione frowned. “Other than your mother and grandmother no one has ever––,” She knew him so well, that even in the dark of night, she could visualize the strain in his features as he struggled for control of his emotions. “They care John; they actually care for the likes of your father. They even think of Mother! I have pictures and that contraption I’m to take on my next visit. It’s, I just––” 

John Albus’s head lifted. His left hand caressed his father’s cheek. Draco was crying?

“Daddy,” John said. Clumsily he finished drying his father’s face and in that innocent way children have about them he said, “All gone.”

Hermione found Harry’s hand. With the other she traced the path of her own tears. Draco cared deeply for the Muggle family. Those few words gave her a better understanding of what the Aislings had done for him. Despair and anger engulfed her at once. They knew more about him than her, the woman he claimed to love. For Christ’s sake! He must have told them about Narcissa. She wasn’t aware he visited his mother! But they did. Gorgeous, bloody, sodding, stunningly beautiful the four of them! She wanted to walk out of her hiding place, take her son and hex him to kingdom come. Her gaze focused again on Draco and her baby. A woman’s voice came from behind Draco.

“He misses his mother.” Hands in the pocket of her worn out jeans, the eldest of the Aisling women stood on Draco’s right. “Your room is ready. There is no cot for John Albus, we improvised.”

Draco turned and faced the house. The woman took a few steps and stood right in front of Draco. “Hermione is coming tomorrow to pick him up, I can’t stay.” Draco replied coldly.

_‘Did I say I was coming?’_ Hermione thought Draco was not only rude but misinformed.

“Perfect! Call Hermione and invite her over.” She said cheerfully as she made her way back to the house.

“I don’t think she’ll––,” He was interrupted by another of the Aisling women.

“He’s giving you a hard time isn’t he? You’re an ungrateful bastard you know?” The younger woman declared.

Hermione, still under the cloak leaned over the corner and took in the whole scene. She couldn’t make out Draco or the older’s woman faces since they had their back to her but she had a good view of the Amazon-like beauty.

“Nicky––,” Nicky’s mother warned her.

“I should go.” Draco’s voice was strained but not angry which surprised Hermione.

“He’s asleep and in his pyjamas. Here,” Nicky placed a small blanket on John Albus. “Take him upstairs and let him rest. I’ll bet he needs it after crying all night for his mother and you not having a clue about what to do. Shut up Draco!” Nicky must have anticipated a retort.

Well, wasn’t it interesting? Hermione’s lips formed a smile.

“So, it’s settled then. Call Hermione. We’ll have breakfast. Nine o’clock. She can come anytime. I’m sure she can’t wait to see her son.” The older woman kissed John Albus, Draco and Nicky. “Goodnight,” she said and went in.

A car’s engine could be heard as it drove by. What little amount of wind, rustled the leaves of the tree. For a few seconds a silver speck of light came from behind a cloud and then it disappeared, leaving behind shadows and silhouettes.

“How bad was it?” Nicky asked. This time her tone was soft, conciliatory and way too intimate for Hermione.

“I should go in.” Draco replied. Nicky placed a hand on his arm.

“Did you tell her?” Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. Did he tell them about the other woman? The silence following her question must have been enough of an answer for Nicky.  “So the hardest part is over.”

“Whatever you say.” There was bitterness in his voice.

Nicky stood head to head with Draco. Not only beautiful but she was tall as well. Hermione shook her head.

“Well, what did you expect Draco? Give her time, she’ll come around.” Nicky opened the door for Draco. As he made his way in, Nicky caressed John’s soft curls. “He’ll sleep better tonight.”

“Maybe.” Draco said.

“Cheerful as always.” Nicky complained.

“A sodding bitch as usual.” Draco responded but Hermione heard the playful smirk on his voice.

The door closed as their bickering continued. Hermione sagged against the wall and then dropped on the ground, dragging the cloak with her. Ginny and Harry imitated her. Deep in thought no one moved or spoke for a long while. Hermione’s reflections on what was witnessed and heard were conflicted. Doubts and fear of what it all meant permeated most of her thoughts. There was anger, of course, and the most unbecoming of all her feelings and she wasn’t about to give it a name. Most annoying indeed!

Ginny sprang up. “Let’s go. We’ve seen and heard enough.”

Hermione sighed. One more night without her son. She lifted her gaze. Ginny was impatient and in a foul mood.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked as he rose. The innocent intonation of his voice provoked a snort from Ginny.

“Hermione’s flat, we need to talk about all of this.” Ginny answered and without another word Disapparated.

Immediately after, Harry and Hermione vanished.

 


	42. Chapter 42

** Disclaimer: ** **J K Rowling is the owner of the Harry Potter books**

** A/N: ** **Without _BrandedFaithfully_   I’d be lost. Thank you!**

**My deepest apologies for the long absence. I’ve been gravelly ill since June. I feel better but not out of the woods yet.  It’s good to be back. My muse is coming back ever so slowly.**

**Waiting eagerly for your comments,**

**Elena**

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**Chapter 42: The Reluctant Fiancé**

Sitting by the window, Hermione watched dawn approach as she cradled her cup of tea with both hands. Her lips grazed the rim of her cup and stayed there. No matter what her mood was like, early mornings were the best part of her day. The peaceful quiet of the world still abed, the gradual light of the impending sunrise giving shape and colour to the skies and the earth below, somehow isolated her, albeit for a few hours, from the bustle and stress of her life. She remembered the many sunrises she’d witnessed while on the run, searching for the Horcruxes. Hungry, cold, scared and yet, for a few moments the world crumbling around her disappeared leaving her with silence on the outside and within. Nothing could hurt her, no dream was impossible. While in Australia, the stunning eruption of the sun on the horizon, with the sea at her feet gave her the courage to see beyond her pain. It was by the Australian seashore that she started seeing the world in colour again; for until then she had been oblivious of the greyness in her life. Back home, dawn meant she’d made it through another day without Draco, Harry and all she left behind. Now, cocooned within the walls of her new home, watching the sun and threatening looking clouds fight for supremacy over the skies, Hermione Granger had come to the conclusion that her life’s journey was about to make another pivotal turn. She took a sip of her tea, lifted her head and smiled. The sun had won and light had conquered the darkness. She, the pragmatic, analytical, know-it-all couldn’t deny the symbolism of what had just happened up above. New challenges, new opportunities and she’d be dammed if she’d let fear and–– _‘Bloody hell!Say it Hermione!’_ Her footfalls, determined and furious, took her to the bedroom. She stripped naked and walked briskly to the bathroom. The mirror reflected back what she struggled with all night long.

“Fine!” she yelled at her reflection. “I’m jealous okay? Jealous! Happy? I said it! I am jealous!” Yanking the shower curtain open, she stepped into the bathtub, turned on the water and screamed. “I’m going to kill him!”

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With his elbow propped under his head, Draco watched his son’s chest rise and fall. Two tiny armchairs facing each other had been prepared for the small child to sleep in but Draco found it hard not having his son’s warmth by his side, that and the fact that he expected John to wake up, same as he did the night before, crying and screaming for his mother while his out of control magic seeped out of his body destroying everything in its path. To his relief, John slept all night. Turning his body and his face toward the window, Draco could see the golden and bluish signs of the new day. He managed a couple of hours of sleep in between his nightmares. Bad dreams was too simple a definition. Dismissing the images but not the lingering apprehension they left him with, Draco wondered about what kind of day awaited him.

He finally phoned Hermione late at night. To his chagrin her two friends were still at the flat. In fact, Harry ‘bloody’ Potter answered the telephone. No pleasantries were exchanged, of course. He asked for Hermione without preamble. His conversation with Hermione lasted no more than two or three minutes. Enough to inform her of the change of plans, where he was, give her the address and the time she was expected. Draco anticipated objections and questions, none were forthcoming. Her reaction struck him as very odd. She did ask about John Albus and he responded not with a lie but a few omissions.

Pushing himself up, Draco re-arranged the pillows behind his back. John Albus sighed, wiggled a little and continued his slumber, his favourite toy, a baby dinosaur, between his father and him. Love and pride swelled in Draco’s chest at the sight of his son. It still amazed him that he had any part in the creation of such a perfect child and he couldn’t wait to meet his future brothers and sisters. Oh, yes! He yearned for a household full of children and he wouldn’t accept any other witch but Hermione Granger as their mother and his wife which brought him back to reality and the daunting task of earning Hermione’s trust. His plan was simple but not without risks. In a way, it felt like he was back in time. Hermione’s trust issues were one of many obstacles he faced more than three years ago. Wooing her, the most fun he’d ever had. He had come out the victor then and he would do it again.

Closing his eyes, Draco brought his head back to the pillow. A very small smile crept in. His mercurial gaze gentle and mischievous turned its attention to his son. The Aisling family, the Aisling girls, to be more precise were eager to meet Hermione and he had the feeling his girlfriend had never encountered the likes of Mrs. Aisling, Nicky, Connie, Gabriella or Susy. Hell, he hadn’t been able to figure them out but there was one thing he knew for sure: with allies like them, Hermione wouldn’t know what hit her.

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Silly as it may sound, Hermione’s first thoughts as she climbed out of the taxi was that she might as well get her Apparation license. Not her favourite form of transportation, in fact, no method of magical transportation was agreeable to her but if getting from here to there could be done in comparatively little to no time at all then why not take advantage of it? God knows she’d been practicing the most advance kind of magic since her first year at Hogwarts. Apparating was as easy as coming up with the Protean Charm she mastered to help Dumbledore’s Army or as her expertise at Arithmancy. Hexes, charms and curses? Oh please! Child’s play. Besides, why give The Prophet more ammunition with something as silly as her lack of a permit?

Her first visit to the Aisling household had been done at night; her state of mind was such that she barely took a good look at her surroundings. A Muggle form of transportation was a better and a safer choice. So, there she was again. Standing on the sidewalk, early in the morning. Just a few minutes past eight actually and eager to have John Albus in her arms and ready to meet Draco’s Muggle friends (or girlfriends) since the females outnumbered five to one the membership in the Aisling family.

“You’re Hermione, aren’t you?” Hermione jumped on the spot. Before her heart regained its regular rhythm, the young girl had already taken her by the hand and dragged her inside the house. “You were right Mum!” the girl said. “She came early.”   

In a matter of seconds Hermione found herself in the middle of a tiny lounge and just as fast a pair of strong arms surrounded her.

“Welcome! I didn’t hear the...” The older of the Aisling women stopped mid-sentence. With her hands still on Hermione’s shoulders, she took one step back. Hermione found a pair of soft amber irises fixed on her. Mrs. Aisling  let go of Hermione’s shoulders but held on to her left hand while her gaze moved gradually and continuously through the young witch’s body. She might as well have had a wand, Hermione thought, for that’s what it felt like when Mrs. Aisling’s tilted her head left, right and met Hermione’s gaze as if in it she might find what she was looking for. No one had ever looked at her like that, not since––Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. No matter how hard she tried to conceal her feelings from Albus Dumbledore he could read her like an open book. Hell! He knew things about his students, of her, just by a quick glance. She still remembered the many instances where he’d be talking as his gaze wandered idly here and there, sometimes pretending he wasn’t really interested but she now knew it to be otherwise. His skill at Occlumency and Legilimency must have been extraordinary otherwise how could he had known about her use of the Time-turner? Those piercing blue eyes of his had an _‘I know what you’re not telling me’_ kind of twinkle. But he was a wizard and not just any wizard but one of the most powerful ever known. Mrs. Aisling was a Muggle, wasn’t she?

“Mummy!” John Albus had come out of nowhere. She reached out and took him in her arms; Mrs. Aisling and Dumbledore forgotten.

“My darling!” she said showering his face with kisses, breathing in his wonderful baby scent. His short arms came around her neck as his little fingers buried themselves on her hair. She closed her eyes to better drink in her baby’s warmth, his touch and his wonderful smell.

She knew who it was erasing the rivulet of tears from her face before opening her eyes. As she lifted her face, Hermione’s eyes collided with Draco’s. Her heart had a jolt and yet one more as his lips settled on hers for a chaste kiss. A bit longer than a second, that’s how long it lasted. Draco pulled back and took her hand in his, drawing circles on the smooth side of it, sending shivers down her spine. He was treating her presence there as if the past couple of days had not happened. Had he forgotten the reason why she’d come to pick her son up?  Hermione felt like pulling her hand away and wipe the kiss off her tingling lips. Her body had other ideas for it remembered vividly what those lips were capable of as her breasts, like her lips quivered and perked up but it didn’t stop there. She could almost feel him inside her and she yearned for it. The annoying fluttering butterflies at the pit of her stomach would have been a better reaction than the wave of lust in which she was submerged. Angry at herself, at him, at the whole situation she tried to free her hand but Draco’s voice and his wicked caress on her hand distracted her.

“Mrs. Aisling, meet Hermione Granger. Hermione, Maggie Aisling,” he said proudly.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Hermione,” Maggie Aisling’s wide smiled reached her eyes; the warmth and playful glint in them like a soft, favourite blanket one sought at the end of the day.

“Mum, I’m going out for my run...” The Amazon-like beauty, Nicky, Hermione recalled, stood at the foot of the stairs. As her gaze fell on Hermione, Nicky stopped her descent to take a good look at the visitor. Her hazel eyes bounced from their guest to Mrs. Aisling. To Hermione it felt like they were reading each other’s minds which of course wasn’t possible, these were regular, non-magical people or were they? There was just something about them or maybe it was just Draco Malfoy’s body so close to her. Or maybe she was going crazy.

Clearing her throat, Maggie Aisling returned her attention to Hermione.  “Hermione, this is my daughter Nicky, my oldest and,” Maggie added nodding to her left, “my youngest, Suzy. Connie and Gabriella are upstairs.”

Placing John Albus on her left hip, therefore losing contact with Draco, a fact which for some reason made her feel lost, without an anchor, Hermione extended her right hand. Nicky took it smiling broadly and then kissed her cheek. Suzy followed suit.

In broad daylight Hermione couldn’t deny the striking beauty of the women. If she didn’t know better she’d think she was standing in front of fairy tale princesses from a far away exotic kingdom. There was a Veela-like aura about them. A disturbing thought indeed.

Nicky kissed John Albus’ brow, flashed Draco and Hermione a mischievous grin and said, “Play nice okay? I’ll be back shortly.” Before anyone could say a word, Nicky was gone.

“Please make yourself comfortable.” Maggie offered. 

Hermione sat on the one and only armchair, John Albus in tow. Draco perched himself on the arm rest on her right. Apparently, the empty couch wasn’t big or comfortable enough for Draco Malfoy. And wouldn’t you know it? His left hand had managed to make its way to her nape, massaging it, threading his fingers on her hair. Her body reacted instantly to his touch and she leaned back, sighing, hopefully not out loud. She clearly remembered their conversation two nights ago, when he admitted he had cheated on her. So why was he acting as if they were still together? Better yet, why was she letting him get away with it?

“Where is your father?” Mrs. Aisling’s question pulled Hermione out of her reverie.

Suzy shrugged her shoulders. Maggie’s gaze narrowed. “Draco?” she asked.

Hermione’s eyes followed Suzy’s gaze. Draco exchanged a conspiratorial glance with the young girl. John Albus decided to climb down his mother’s lap. He didn’t go far though. Crawling under the coffee table he retrieved his baby dinosaur and sat at his mother’s feet. Maggie waited for an answer.

“Uh-huh, he had...I mean he is...uh” Draco squirmed on his spot. Hermione couldn’t believe it. Draco Malfoy reduced to a stutter as only a child caught with the proverbial hand in the cookie jar would. Suzy giggled.

“Say no more.” Maggie declared. “These three can’t keep away from Cons’ garage.” She addressed Hermione. “Children with a brand new toy, that’s what my husband and your fiancé behave like because of that piece of junk, dragging this one with them. Well,” she placed her hands on her hips, “what are you waiting for Draco? You have five minutes.”

_‘Fiance’, really? Didn’t Mrs. Aisling know they had, that she had broken up with him?_ Hermione thought irritated.

Draco rose. “Five minutes, Mr. Malfoy.” Maggie persisted. The gleam in her eyes was bright and tender.

When Draco left, Maggie nodded to Hermione. “Come, keep me company. Suzy, tell your sisters breakfast in half an hour and don’t even think of joining your father!”

Mumbling her retort under her breath the baby of the house left to deliver the message. John Albus lifted his arms to his mother as soon as she pushed herself out of the armchair.

“You can walk John,” Hermione said softly, although she took his hand. Three steps and they were in the tiny kitchen. Looking through the window on her right, Hermione could see the big tree under which stood the shed.

“May I help you?” Hermione asked. Maggie shook her head and sat on one of the chairs.

“The girls will take care of the table. You need your rest.” Maggie prompted Hermione to sit, she did.

“Mummy, up,” John Albus tugged at Hermione’s skirt. Hermione picked him up.

“He’s as cautious with strangers as his father.” Maggie said looking at the toddler tenderly. “I think this is the first time since they came that he’s set foot on the ground. He missed you terribly.”

Hermione kissed the top of his head while looking at Maggie from under her eyelashes as she said, “it’s the first time we’ve been apart since he was born. Mum’s been taking care of him when I’m at work and my parents are the only people other than myself he’s known, and now––” Hermione hesitated, “Draco is his father. We might not be together but he has the right to be with him.” That took care of the fiancé misunderstanding, but the impact of what she said hurt. Draco and she weren’t a couple anymore. Suddenly, she had the urge to leave. Soon Draco will be back and she’ll be having breakfast with his friends as if nothing was amiss. Hermione pushed the chair back.

“Hermione,” Maggie reached for her, touching her arm.

“I think, it’d be best if I leave.” Hermione felt like an intruder. A deep sadness engulfed her as her eyes collided with Maggie’s kind gaze.

Voices and the sounds of hurried footsteps on the stairs, caught the women’s attention.

“Mum, I’m warning you, if you don’t do something about this brat, I swear, I’m going to thrash her thoroughly.” Hermione, with John Albus in one of her hips had abandoned her seat and faced the rest of the Aisling’s siblings. The only time she’d been exposed to such beauty was during the Tri-Wizard tournament. These women were the opposite of the gorgeous, blond, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic students she encountered but just as gorgeous. Long chocolate hair going past their shoulders, held back by headbands. Their skin, like Nicky’s and Suzy’s had a light caramel tone. Small nose, pouty lips. And, an ample bosom. Crap! Gorgeous eyes, amber but ever-changing in their hue. The one wearing the green tank top sported green strands in her irises and the other with the flowery blue and way too short sundress showed some of the same colour in her eyes. Legs going on forever. Hermione, with her very modest attire of a jean skirt, moccasins and plain shirt felt out of place and ignored, especially since her presence had not been acknowledged at all by the two girls.

“ ‘Good morning Mum, how did you sleep?’ ” Maggie said sarcastically. “ ‘You must be Hermione, nice to meet you,’ ” she added slightly annoyed but still with a playful glint in her eyes.

The one wearing the sundress sighed and said, “My apologies, Gabriella,” she introduced herself with a pause, “and yes, very nice to meet you at last.” She kissed Hermione’s cheek and ruffled John Albus’s head.

“I’m Connie,” said the one wearing the tank top and shorts. She kissed Hermione’s cheek and John Albus’s head. “Good morning handsome.” Her greeting made John giggled. Hermione felt like rolling her eyes, instead she plastered a smile on her face.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Hermione reciprocated.

“Now about the brat,” Gabriella persisted turning her attention to her mother. “Not only is she using my clothes without asking, again,” Gabriella emphasized, “she’s returning them without washing and I’m sick and tired of it!”

Well, beauties or not, their manners were suspect. Hermione stepped back, close to the back door. Connie began to set the table quietly. Suzy, arms tightly crossed over her chest stood by her mother, scowling at her big sister. Maggie tucked her hair under the colourful bandana she wore, hooked her thumbs in the loops in her jeans, rolled on the heels of her feet, inhaled soundly and exhaled slowly. Gabriella lowered her gaze. Suzy looked at her mother and in an instant her whole demeanor changed to that of a child scolded loudly and soundly by her parent. Hermione couldn’t help but smile inwardly. 

“Hermione and I are going over to Con’s; you girls set the table.” Maggie gave Hermione a wide smile. “Let’s go dear, it’s a short walk and it’s a beautiful morning.”

Hermione followed the older woman out the front door, John Albus slid down and took his mother’s hand. Hermione shook her head and smiled at her child. Just a few days ago, he’d have refused, rather strongly, to hold on to her. Looking at the blond curls of her son, her thoughts wandered back to Draco. Harry had mentioned following Nicky to a garage where he found Draco working on a car engine. That picture, Draco Malfoy and Muggle cars, Hermione couldn’t put together. The snippets of the conversation Harry listened to, made no sense to her either although she had the feeling that Nicky might have something to do with Draco’s visit to her parents that same day.

They walked for a couple of minutes until they reached the corner. Going up the street the two women turned right into an alley not wider than three or four metres. It was lovely actually. There were trees on either side with some of their branches hanging over the fences. The wind rustled the leaves. Hermione looked up as the breeze caressed the tallest branches. It felt like walking through a wondrous, jeweled cave as the dancing leaves up above granted the sun’s rays to sneak in at intervals with a blue sky in the background. Hermione realized the houses had access, through their gardens, to garages or small roofed structures to house their cars. They had almost reached the end of the small road when Maggie stopped.

“Let’s go through the side,” she said. “Lifting the garage door is rather tricky.”

The crooked side-door of the run down structure hung by two hinges, Hermione could hear voices coming from inside. Maggie opened the door and stepped in, moving to the side. Hermione and John Albus came in and stood beside Maggie. It smelled of petrol, grease and coffee. Hermione wrinkled her nose and her stomach reacted vigorously to the unsavory mixture of scents. Right in front of the women a car covered by a thick cloth took most of the space. At either side of the small room rows of tools and odds and ends hung from the grease-stained walls. Dirty windows at the very top surrounded the garage. Both men had their backs to the women and were deep in conversation.

“It fits perfectly doesn’t it? It looks brand new! Draco my boy you’ve outdone yourself.” Nick’s excitement was obvious.

“I’ve found the alternator too, you’ll have it by tomorrow.” Draco sounded so relaxed and comfortable talking about something so alien to him as car parts Hermione had no words.

“And I said five minutes Draco Malfoy,” Maggie admonished.

The men pivoted on their spots looking sheepish albeit not particularly sorry. Nick recuperated first, smiling broadly as he wiped his hands on a rag he picked up from the working table. Draco’s face pinked as his eyes found Hermione’s. Of their own volition the corners of her mouth upturned. She couldn’t help it. There he stood, his platinum hair tied messily behind his neck while a few strands fell at the side of his face, a smudge of grease on his forehead, his left hand holding a wrench and looking as self-conscious as she’d ever seen him. Hermione held his gaze. No masks, no barriers as Draco smiled back and shrugged his shoulders. _‘You caught me’_ she could almost hear him. There was something about his behaviour, the softness in his features, the tender sparks in his eyes... She blinked, John Albus, it appeared had dragged her along to his father’s side. She met Draco’s silvery irises and without thinking her right hand moved upward and came into contact with the bit of grease on his forehead, her thumb wiped it.  As her hand came down Draco caught it and squeezed it gently, she returned the gesture. His eyes locked with hers. John Albus demanded attention breaking the spell. Draco placed the wrench on the worn out working table behind him and picked their son up.

“Your hands are a mess Draco,” she reprimanded him.

“And breakfast is getting cold,” added Maggie. “Let’s go Nicholas.”

Nicholas kissed Hermione’s cheeks and winked at her. “Good morning and it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Hermione.” He lifted his hands, “I’ll give you a proper hug once I wash.”

Maggie was already outside, Nicholas ran to meet her. “Lock the door Draco,” Nicholas said.

Draco walked toward the door as he put John Albus on his shoulders. Her son laughed. Draco waited for her outside the door. Once she came out, Draco locked the door and took her hand tugging at it as he started their way back. Those persistent butterflies fluttered happily at the pit of her stomach, her skin tingled and her emotions were many and too varied for her to try to understand why Draco’s hand on hers felt like home.

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There was something in common with the Aisling and Weasley households: partaking of food was a loud affair. There were eight of them and a small child cramped around a round table too small and yet, too big for the small kitchen. Two or three conversations going on at the same time with the usual bantering between siblings, Draco included. A wistful desire to return to those moments with the Weasleys overwhelmed her. She had missed them, she still did. After her parents, the Weasleys were the perfect embodiment of what love in a family should be like.

There was love and happiness all around her right now and all eyes on her and Draco. Draco whom said very little to the group at large or to her, but couldn’t stop finding excuses to touch her. Rubbing his knee against her thigh, bringing a strand of her hair behind her ear, or surreptitiously sneaking his arm behind her chair and caressing her shoulder.

“So you guys have a new flat,” Gabriella said. “And right above the shop, how convenient.”

She wondered how long it’d take for her relationship with Draco to come up. At least she managed to eat most of her breakfast without lots of questions.

“Actually...” Hermione’s retort was cut short. John Albus decided to abandon his mother’s lap and moved over to his father’s.

“You don’t have a ring, but you guys are getting married aren’t you?” Little Suzy asked. “Ooouch! He kicked me!”

Draco smirked under his breath.

“The quicker the better.” Connie replied gifting Draco and Hermione with a teasing gaze. _‘And what is that supposed to mean?’_ Hermione asked herself.

“That’s for Hermione and Draco to decide.” Maggie added directing a stern glance at Connie.

_Right you are!_ Hermione thought. As if he could hear her thoughts and sensing the tension building up in her, Draco’s left hand landed on her nape again burying his fingers under her hair, kneading her scalp rather sensuously. She was under attack on two fronts.

Across from her, Nicky smirked and pushing up out of her chair, Nicky proceeded to clear the table.

“Let me help,” Hermione rose, taking her plate. She needed to keep her distance from Draco’s electrifying touch and spellbinding gaze.

“You don’t have to, the girls can do it,” Maggie declared.

“Let Draco do it for a change,” Gabriella said looking at Draco bemused. Draco raised an eyebrow at her answer. “Here me let have the baby, I’m his favourite aunt, aren’t I gorgeous?” Hermione, already at the sink, turned around ready to rescue her son and to her consternation, John Albus had gone willingly to Gabriella’s arms. _‘Favourite aunt, honestly!’_ Hermione fumed.

“The three of us will take care of the kitchen,” Nicky said. “Mum you better get ready, it’s almost ten.”

“We’ll keep John entertained,” Connie had opened the back door. “Come Suzy.” The youngest of the Aisling household locked glances with her older sister, Suzy shrugged her shoulders and followed Connie to the garden.

“Hermione, I must apologize but I do have to get ready for the job fair. Draco don’t let the girls do all the work,” Maggie blew a kiss to all and left. As she climbed the stairs she yelled, “Draco, you stay with your fiancé, don’t you dare go back to Con’s garage!” Silence ensued. “Did you hear me Nick?!”

“Yes, we heard you love.” Nick responded, smiled at the young people, waited for a few seconds and then said, “she’ll stay there for hours, and I’m going back to get that bloody distributor working if it’s the last thing I do.”

Nick made his exit to the garden where Connie, Gabriella and Suzy were kicking a football with John.

“No left overs, it makes the job easier.” Nicky had turned the water on and started lathering the plates. “Come Draco, you rinse.” She turned her head. Hermione had picked up a couple of plates, forks and knives from the table. Nicky took them from Hermione as she said, “we’ve been training him for you. Haven’t we, Draco?”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Draco replied pushing Nicky with his shoulder. Hermione’s first impulse was to wipe Nicky’s teasing smile off her face. John Albus laughed. Draco stretched to the left to be able to see through the opened door.

Hermione ambled to the doorway. Nick and the girls were kicking the football to John, dribbling and making fancy passes between them. Gabriella took John by his armpits and ran with him with the ball at her feet. She kicked it over her father’s head as they all shouted, “Goooal!” Nick fell on the ground, pounding it with his fists, feigning disappointment, while the three beauties kissed and congratulated John. Out of nowhere a deep nostalgia engulfed her, her eyes moistened. A week ago her son had laughed and played with a family as dear to her as no other family, other than her own, would ever be. John sat on Molly’s lap and enjoyed not only a mouth watering chocolate cake but ‘played’ using his magic with the oldest of the Weasley boys. Bill had tried to teach John to fly in the tiniest of brooms, and for that transgression he found himself at the mercy of a very annoyed Hermione, whom used magic for the first time in years. Later on Arthur took John Albus in his arms as they both tried, without much success, to take into the air a remote control airplane Harry had bought for John. She remembered that afternoon clearly and the longing in her heart deepened.

“It’s none of your business!” Draco’s protest brought her back to the present.

He was annoyed, and Nicky looked amused and very pleased with herself.

“I hope you made him beg Hermione,” Nicky said as she handed  Hermione a dishcloth to dry the dishes.

“Whatever do you mean?” Hermione asked, although she had a very good idea what Nicky was talking about and like Draco, she thought Nicky had no right to interfere.

“He’s stubborn, this one, but,” Nicky shut off the faucet, turned around, leaned on the counter and glanced at both lovers as she continued, “he is human, and a cute one at that and with the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen. I’m glad you guys have worked it out.”

“Who said we did?” Hermione asked, twisting the cloth in her hands. Meddlesome bitch!

“Oh? Really? Could have fooled me.” Nicky smiled, a wicked, humorous grin.

Draco chose that moment to laugh under his breath. Hermione’s head snapped back to him. “What’s so bloody funny?”

He too leaned on the counter, crossed his arms over his chest, brought his right ankle over his left and said nothing. But she had plenty to say.

“Don’t look at me like that Draco Malfoy, I know what’s happening here and it won’t work. I’m not your fiancé, in fact we’re not together, we’re not a couple, we’re...” He took one step toward her. “We’re not...” He got closer, she stepped back, bumping into a chair. “You’re a cheating, vile, scheming...”

He pulled her in and brought his mouth to hers so fast she lost her balance. He held her head with his hands. For no longer than a second she resisted until his silky tongue brushed against her teeth, pierced the defense they provided and carried on the hungry assault of her now willing mouth. The kiss went on forever. Her arms were around his neck, her body pressed against his until an image, an ugly picture crept into her consciousness: Draco in the arms of another woman. Hermione pushed Draco away from her. Breathless, she lifted her gaze. What she saw in Draco’s eyes mystified her and what he said next astonished her.

“I’m sorry, Hermione, I put those images in your head. I’m... ” He scanned their surroundings. They were alone. “Hermione,” he took her hand, lowered his gaze and said, “because of what I did...” He lifted his head, met her eyes head on and then continued, “because I let...,” he shook his head and she wished he’d tell her exactly what was going through his mind. She wanted an explanation for his transgression. “You don’t trust me and rightly so, I betrayed you. I made a promise and I intend to keep it.” Some of the mischievous sparkle in his eyes returned. “No, you’re not my fiancé, or girlfriend or whatever other word there is to describe it but you most certainly are the one and only woman I’m interested in and as such I’m going to pursue you, court you,” he paused to kiss the top of her hand, and then leaned in so that his next word rushed into her ear like a tidal wave of heat, “woo you with the hope that you’ll choose me again. Until such time, we have a son together and nothing should be more important than John Albus’ s welfare. I’ll be there for him no matter what.”

Draco took her by the shoulders, kissed her forehead and left her not only speechless but with a thundering, thumping out of control heart.


	43. Chapter 43

** Disclaimer: ** **There is no profit involved nor am I the owner or creator of the Harry Potter series.**

** A/N: ** **Thanks again to _BrandedFaithfully_ for editing this chapter, you’re truly amazing and generous with your time.**

**¡Feliz Navidad y Próspero Año Nuevo!**

**Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!**

 

**• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •**

**Chapter 43: And The Winner Is?**

Nothing could have pleased Draco more than to kiss her frustration and anger away. She’d been under siege, so to speak, not only by him but also by four very determined women. Like the seasoned and proud fighter that she was, Hermione did not capitulate nor back down. He also understood that the witch, his witch, needed only but the tiniest of excuses to let all that pent up fury punch him right in the chest, free from any restraint. He’d been a witness as well as a victim of her rage, and unlike those instances where he had only a wand he now had the best defense a wizard could ever have: John Albus’s tiny body resting on his chest. John fell asleep during their ride back to the flat. Perhaps their son might have sensed his mother’s murderous disposition because the baby refused to sit on Hermione’s lap on their way back home. John’s reaction added to Hermione’s bad mood, but it also provided Draco with a shield of sorts.

Hermione walked into the flat without bothering to look back and went straight to John’s room. Draco used his left shoulder to close the door. There was still light outside and some of it filtered through the curtained window. Draco padded softly to John’s bedroom. Hermione had prepared the bed. When he cleaned and decorated the flat he opted for a child’s bed instead of a cot without giving his decision a second thought. He realized leaving her out of the decision process could be as a good excuse as any for Hermione to let loose all her fury on him. Draco kneeled on the floor and after kissing John’s blond head, placed the baby on the soft mattress. He left without saying a word to Hermione. Minutes after, she made her way to her bedroom without saying a word to him and closed the door behind her.

She obviously expected to be alone by the time she came back to the small lounge-kitchen because she drew in a deep, infuriated breath when she saw him sitting in the armchair. Glaring at him, she crossed her arms over her chest. He had indulged himself that day more than planned with stolen kisses and caresses, enough that his desire for more remained high. Here they were, alone. He, ready to have his way with her and she–– Oh, he knew her well. That glare... she wanted to hex him alright, but she was also massively turned on. It was in the way she licked her lips and opened her mouth as if to speak, but then bit her lip. It was rage filled lust standing in the kitchen. But, first things first: they needed to sort a few things and talk they would.

But, how was he supposed to control himself when Hermione looked as mouth watering as she did? She had changed into what she might call sleepwear. The smallest, briefest of tanks top, no bra, Merlin help him! Shorts, the well worn, too-revealing-to-go-outside type unless one was a ‘working girl’, her hair piled up in one big bun held together by... a wand. She had a wand? Since when?

Why couldn’t males hide what their libido was wanting? There was no way he could mask the throbbing and quite uncomfortable erection, his trousers simply weren’t big enough. Maybe if he thought about.... Who was he kidding! He lowered his gaze and found her crimson-painted toes. Images of him licking her from head down to those sexy toes of hers pumped more blood south of his waist. His eyes moved on past her ankles, slowly. He squirmed on his seat. What he wouldn’t give to have those legs wrapped around his waist as he... He shut his eyes and kept them closed hoping that by the time he faced her it  would be her eyes and not any other part of her anatomy he’d see. Daring to open an eye, he felt his stomach plummet as he stared at her breasts. Fuck! He shifted on the seat. If he didn’t do something about the rapidly growing creature between his thighs, he’d risk permanent damage to a very vital part of his anatomy.

“What are you still doing here?” Hermione looked not only angry but disconcerted by his presence and not as unaffected in the lust department as well. His gaze blatantly sought and stayed on her chest; her nipples were erect, thrusting forward. Her face pinked a little as he met her eyes. Oh yes, Hermione was feeling as uncomfortable as he was although the defiance in her gaze was not to be ignored. She truly didn’t want him there in spite of the sexual tension between them. He should be standing and taking advantage of his height, forcing her to look up rather than the opposite. Draco knew she wondered not only why he hadn’t left but also why he was still sitting and he was damned if an erection of gargantuan proportions got in the way of confronting Hermione Granger.

Swiftly he stood and all but ran behind the armchair. Now that there was a barrier as well as some distance between them, Draco forced himself to focus on the sexy, infuriated witch. Hermione not only looked vexed and aroused but also exhausted. After all, she had just moved into a new home and although it was evident she had the assistance of her annoying friends (and certainly magic had a lot to do with the cozy and orderly state of her place) she must have stressed and fussed about it. But that was not it, was it?

Some of his lustful urges subsided, probably because he wasn’t thinking of what he was going to do to her, but images of her working. Besides all that, he had taken their precious child away from her and, even for the very short time, it had been a trying experience for both mother and son. Even though he wanted her desperately, Hermione looked like what she needed more than anything else was to be held. Her present state of mind, as well as her pride, would reject that kind of touch just as she rejected the intimacy they shared in Mrs. Aisling’s kitchen the moment whatever images she conjured of him and the other woman tore her apart from his arms. Her walls had been up since then and no amount of furtive caresses made a dent on her well protected heart and wounded ego.

“Those are the most...” she started to speak as well as to pace back and forth, “the most... forward, overbearing, meddlesome women I’ve ever met!” His presence, evidently, had been forgotten and so was that of John Albus’s next door.

“Hermione...” She was not listening. Draco sighed, smiled inwardly. Right now it would be impossible to stop her ranting. He’d seen it before. Draco pointed his wand at John Albus’s room. If there was going to be a shouting match between his parents the last thing they needed was their son as a witness or his totally out of control magic arranging a rather well put together flat.

“God! And that Nicky,” her gaze finally landed on him. “She is the worst!” ‘ _Any minute now she’ll remember her wand’_ , Draco thought. “I went there to pick my son up Draco and those women with... with... I mean not only do they cheat but... Dress like... what am I saying!... They had barely any clothes on! I mean right in front of me! Flirting with you, my fiancé!” She lunged at him not aware she had admitted what she’d been denying over and over again all day long. Draco felt like pumping his fist in the air. Kneeling on the armchair Hermione stabbed his chest with her right index finger. “Don’t deny it, Draco Malfoy! You enjoyed the attention. Aaargh!” Hermione lifted her arms in the air and the pacing started again.

“Kissed you right on the mouth that Nicky, on the mouth! And Gabriella, every time you score she slapped your... Don’t they have  boyfriends of their own!” Draco struggled to suppress the smile that wanted to burst forth over her jealous behaviour.

After they had kissed, well snogged, in the Aisling kitchen, Hermione had stormed the garden ready to go home but John Albus ignored his mother’s plea and and so did all members of the Aisling household who continued playing. Standing on the sidelines, hands on her hips, Hermione rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath as she appeared to be ready to interrupt the fun. Draco had joined in the game and when he saw Hermione’s determined footfalls toward their group he rushed in and held her arm. She stomped on his right foot, he pinched her bum. She yelped. Fuming, she finally relented. Suzy invited Hermione to join in without success. “Leave her alone, she isn’t into sports,” Nicky’s matter-of-fact statement earned her a scowl from an extremely annoyed witch.

“I better go back, my son’s team needs help,” he said as he kissed her cheek.

Minutes after, Draco scored. Nicky took his face in her hands, winked at him, turned her back to Hermione and pecked his lips. She winked again. Taking a cue from his lady friend, Draco followed Nicky’s sauntering steps back to her defensive spot making sure Hermione could see him checking Nicky’s derriére.  Seconds after, Hermione took John Albus away from Gaby and announced she’ll play too, which earned the cheers of the other team.

“Watch and learn Hermione,” Connie taunted.

Hermione barely touched the ball, relegated to protect the goal while Draco with John Albus in tow partnered with Nicky and Suzy against Connie, Gaby and Nick. The catcalls increased as Draco pulled his shirt off, every score brought another slap on his bum, every good play, a flirtatious nudge and he managed to nuzzle her once or twice for good measure as well. Whether he intentionally wanted to make her jealous or if it was all just innocent fun, by the time lunch came and Hermione was manipulated into sharing the sandwiches Maggie had prepared; he realized that he might have pushed her a little too far. He had a very frustrated and extremely tense Hermione.

“You’re not taking my son there ever again. I don’t care how nice Mrs. and Mr. Aisling are.” Taking a cushion from the couch, Hermione sat on the armchair strangling the stuffing out of it as if it were one of the girls’ necks. She sprang back up again and glanced at Draco, her mouth opened and then closed. Holding on to the cushion, crushing it against her chest, Hermione stood still and met his eyes. She had run out of steam and he saw his moment at last. Throwing caution to the wind, he stepped away from the armchair, approached slowly and kept his eyes squarely on her face, his hands slipping around her waist. The cushion fell at their feet. Silence stretched. His arms wrapped Hermione tightly and tenderly, pulling her against him.  She had yet to return the gesture. Her tense upper body leaned on his chest but her arms hung by her side. He didn’t care to read too much into it. He just couldn’t ignore her distress any longer. 

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Hermione leaned on him, welcomed his embrace. Yet, for a few moments her arms stood by her side until she couldn’t resist it anymore and on their own volition they wrapped tightly around Draco’s waist. God! It felt good to be in his arms! It had been a long, trying and full of conflicting emotions, kind of day. Her heart found its rhythm and so had her breathing. Eyes closed, Hermione just stood there, in Draco’s arms forcing herself to think of nothing, to feel nothing but him, his warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Three, four minutes went by and then reality set in and Hermione sighed. Mentally, she shook her head as those painful images came back: Draco in bed with a faceless woman. Is it possible to love and hate at the same time? Would she be able to forgive him one day?  She wasn’t ready to forgive or forget, of that she was certain. Not when only three nights ago he went back on his word and trampled on her trust. The pain was too raw. Yes, she ‘played’ along today. She pretended she wasn’t on to him and his scheming friends. She indulged in his caresses and granted her jealousy domain over her actions but, the time to set the record straight had come.

Ever so slowly she extricated herself from Draco. Without looking at him, she picked up the cushion from the floor and sat on the couch. He made for the empty spot beside her but she shook her head.

“No, sit over there,” she said in a clipped tone, pointing at the armchair he had previously occupied. She couldn’t think in close proximity to his body. Wearily she looked up. He was aware of the effect he had on her and damn him! The smug look in his face irritated her. Was it all a game to him? Did he truly understand what was going on within her? Yet, just a few minutes ago he held her. He comforted her, he acknowledged her weariness. He understood her, however...

Hermione sighed again. She looked at him square in the eyes. “It won’t work Draco. You and your friends had fun at my expense, fine. You obviously think I can be manipulated by their childish antics but, I can’t forget what you’ve done Draco.” Distractedly her right hand wandered picking up the cushion by her side, pressing it against her chest. “You lie to me, you betrayed me with...,” she let out a quivering, painful laugh, “What’s her name?” Hermione had tried with all her might not to show how vulnerable and hurt she truly felt and there she was giving in to those emotions, she just couldn’t help herself and had to ask a really stupid question. Curiosity overwhelmed her. What did that woman look like? Where did he meet her? How often they saw each other? Did it really matter? What could she possibly gain with that knowledge?

Draco’s elbows rested on his knees and clasped his hands together, as he leaned dangerously close to Hermione. Her resolve to keep a cool head was perilously compromised as his eyes collided with hers. In those beautiful irises of his Hermione transported herself to the Aislings’ kitchen remembering their kiss but also Draco’s recognition of the pain his transgression inflicted on her. He spoke of trust and a promise. He apologized. He also challenged her. 

“This is no game Draco,” she chastised him.

“I never said it was,” he said looking squarely at her, zeroing in on her eyes. Hermione clung to the cushion for dear life. “And I never said I’ll give up on us,” Draco added with dogged determination, sliding closer to Hermione. A few rebel strands of hair framed his face.

“You haven’t listen to me, Draco,” she said. “I want space, I want a break,” she added with a tone just as determined as his.

She expected a swift response and all she got instead was silence. Draco was deep in thought, staring at her and she had no choice but to stare back at him which ended up being a big mistake. Her resolve to keep emotionally in control all but evaporated. He looked at her with such passion and need! Two, three blinks and those sentiments were gone leaving her bereft and slightly alarmed by what his expression morphed into. It was the same look Draco had not so long ago, when she told him their relationship couldn’t possibly happen, that it was a mistake, a sickness product of her head injury. Well, her arguments were for naught. Obviously Draco not only did not listen to her but managed the impossible: proved without a shred of a doubt that indeed, against all odds, they could happened and what better proof of it than the baby they conceived?

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked sharply bringing her wandering thoughts back to the present and his very unsettling question. Should she indulge him? Because there most definitely was something she hadn’t told him.

As soon as her gaze ran from his and focused on the floor Hermione knew she’d made another mistake. Hiding her eyes from his amounted to an admission of guilt. But, why should she feel guilty about Sebastian’s kiss? Draco had no right to suspect her, if that’s what he implied with his question. She was on the right and he in the wrong and she had nothing to hide. Suddenly, anger pushed its ugly head and defiantly Hermione let it spice up her words.

“No, I’ve got nothing to tell you and even if I did you have no right to ask because we’re not together anymore no matter what you say or do.” His close proximity enervated her so she abandoned the couch and walked toward the window. Another display of weakness from her which in turn added to her anger.

From the corner of her eye she took in Draco’s demeanor. His back ramrod straight, the muscles in his arms all bunched up and the veins in his neck bulging while his silence saturated their environment with an uncomfortable and eerie stillness. He took in a deep breath and she braced herself for what was coming. 

“I reckon it’s going to be a lot harder than I expected. No matter.” Hermione did a double take. Wasn’t he just about to blow a gasket? He couldn’t possibly be serious!

Draco rose leaving behind whatever negative feelings her words had elicited. He shoved five fingers through his hair and brushed his wayward tendrils away from his face. He gave out a loud sigh. Her heart clawed at her chest desperately when she looked at him. Without losing sight of her, he sauntered toward Hermione with a predatory, determined and slightly irritated look in his features. Nothing made sense inside her head. All rational thought forgotten as Draco stood right in front of her and took her face in his hands.

“What aren’t you telling me, Hermione?” he asked again. His lips were almost on top of hers. Her wandering gaze felt the pull of his grey eyes and stayed there for a few seconds until slowly her eyes descended to his lips. Draco came into focus again as Hermione lifted her face and found Draco’s piercing stare digging for the answer to his question. His features were surrounded by those wayward blond tendrils which refused to stay behind his ear. She couldn’t stand it any longer and her left hand pushed them back into place. He took her hand in his as it descended and pressed it against his right cheek.

“I won’t give up,” he said kissing the inside of her hand. Her whole body shouted and pleaded for more of his touch, her heart pounded wildly against her chest as her brain and her emotions warred against each other. His left hand slid toward the back of her neck while his fingers intertwined with her hair and once again they locked gazes. “No matter what or who gets in the way Hermione.” And then it happened and nothing mattered anymore when Draco kissed her.

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Like a drowning man, Draco clung to Hermione and filled his nostrils with her scent, her hair like honeysuckle, her lips rose peddles and he couldn’t get enough, his mouth and nose exploring the side of her neck with tiny kisses, the edge of her jaw with warm breath and a nibble on the soft lobe of her ear. Her breath stuttered and it thrilled him more. He couldn’t live a day without touching or kissing her nor could Draco accept defeat, ever. Her hands trailed to his torso, fisting his shirt while his slid around her back and then slowly all the way to her bottom pulling her to him making sure she’d be aware of how much he wanted her. They devoured each other. It was a feast, a hungry mating of their mouths and yet, as passionate as her reaction to his ministrations were, Hermione held back. Her fisted hands remained on his chest, keeping him at bay while the rest of her tensed and unwilling body refused to be subdued by his assault. He wasn’t that far gone to sense her reluctance to surrender completely. He wanted her and she... She couldn’t or wouldn’t give all of herself to his kiss. No matter the intensity of it, she refused to submit to him. This time it was Draco who pulled away from her although not completely. His forehead rested on hers and his hands coiled gently around her arms. When he finally opened his eyes the first thing he saw was the white knuckles of her folded hands on his torso. Their chests rose and fell laboriously.

_‘No, I’ve got nothing to tell you and even if I did you have no right to ask...’_ There were more to those words than just her anger and frustration. It bothered him enough to doubt if his plan would work. But, in a fraction of a second he dismissed all negative thoughts and reminded himself that he’d done this before, that it was her pride and her pain saying one thing while her body said something else. Draco Malfoy hadn’t changed at all when it came to his needs and wants. He needed this woman in his life and he wanted her far beyond the typical desires of mankind. A need that challenged the elements and a want that drove his reason for existence. Draco lifted her chin with his right hand while the other wrapped itself around the nape of her neck.

“I’ll be here first thing in the morning,” he said.

“I’m taking John Albus to daycare,” she answered in a small yet defiant voice and he couldn’t restrain a teasing smile which, of course, made her leave his arms and step back.

“I’d rather he stays with me,” he explained, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “The Prophet hounds are out and about, it’d be a matter of days until they find you. We have to talk Hermione, about...”

“I can take care of my son,” she interjected angrily, wrapping her arms around her chest.

“Our son,” he emphasized, “would be better off with me and you, and I need to figure out what to do about the Prophet and with John Albus and... us.”

“I talked to Harry...,” she interrupted sharply.

“And I could give a rat’s arse about his opinion!” The sole mention of her friend felt like a punch in the stomach. Bile rose in his throat.

“Just like I don’t give a sodding fig what your muggle friends say. How does it feel, dear?” she responded in that much annoyingly condescending tone of hers. “Unlike Nicky and the rest of them, Harry is a wizard, a powerful one, and my closest friend and,” she added with a touch of antagonism and provocation, “he and I are planning on going to the Ministry and probably The Prophet.”

Brushing aside the all too powerful anger seeping through his pores, Draco schooled his voice to come out as even and calm as possible. She was being obtuse and rather vindictive. First Hermione brings fucking Potter into the conversation, even worse, into their personal lives and, secondly completely dismisses the fact that it should be them, together, who should face The Prophet and The Ministry.

“Let’s make one thing clear,” every muscle, every nerve in his body was as tight as it was humanly possible as he continued, “I’m John Albus’s father and as such I expect to be included in every decision concerning his well being. You’re not to act unilaterally just like you did three years ago nor is Harry Potter to interfere in any way, shape or form in our son’s life.”

Hermione’s smoldering gaze couldn’t hide the apprehension in them. He understood what it was about but chose to ignore it. She wanted to exert her rights as a parent, well, so could he.

“In the eyes of the law, Muggle or magical, he is legally my son. You yourself did it by naming me as his father. He has my last name. By Muggle law it gives us both the right to be his parents.” He approached her, she stood her ground as her eyes met his. “I won’t challenge your rights with The Ministry, I’m not that stupid. Being a Malfoy among Muggles is one thing, being the son of Draco Malfoy in the wizarding world is another, but don’t tempt me, Hermione. And don’t think for a second that I won’t acknowledge John Albus.”

She blinked a few minutes, remained firmly planted in front of him, but her eyes radiated a certain degree of shock and awe at the way he was speaking to her.

“If I’m not taking any steps at the moment to assert my rights it’s because we need to be ready to protect him. I had...,” he corrected himself, “... have every intention of doing it with you by my side but,” he paused long enough to think of the right words but he was too overcome by anger so he added, “if you want to make this into a battle of wills, or worse, if you’re using my son and Potter to get back at me then you’ll leave me no choice.”

He wished it didn’t have to come to this. He couldn’t help himself and at the same time he regretted his words. Hermione stood still, breathing hard and fast with fists by her side and looking at him not only with contempt but with fear and sadness. Draco sensed the door to a reconciliation slowly slipping shut but the thought of Harry Potter having anything to do with his son enraged him beyond measure. Raking his hand through his hair Draco closed the distance between them. Hermione shook her head putting her hands up.

“You better leave Draco,” she said in an even, cold tone. Her unyielding gaze locked with his. 

They stared at each other while a whirlwind of emotions engulfed them. As seconds ticked by, Draco felt his anger slipping away, albeit not totally. The quiet surrounding them wasn’t a peaceful one but one simmering with more hurtful words. He meant what he said, and yet, wanted no part of a confrontation with Hermione. Draco felt his shoulders sag, not from defeat, but sheer exhaustion. It had been a long day and nothing good would come out of it if he’d prolonged his stay.

However he had one more thing to add, one chance to leave her with hope. “You may think there’s no future for us.” Her brow wrinkled ever so slightly as if that thought was painful for her, her eyes appeared sad and yet she stood defiant. He shifted closer. “I don’t agree and will prove it to you. I love my son more than I ever thought I could love anyone and I...” he swallowed roughly,  “I...” He wanted so much to declare his love for her, it made his chest ache, but he had made a promise not only to her parents but to himself and besides, she wouldn’t believe or listen to him. Still, the sincerity of his thoughts must have shown in his eyes for her expression softened for a brief moment. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning,” he repeated his earlier statement. “Good night, Hermione.” And before she could protest, he brushed his lips against hers and in quick strides made for the door, opened it and closed it behind him.

 


	44. Chapter 44

**Disclaimer:**   **There is no profit involved nor am I the owner or creator of the Harry Potter series.**

** A/N: ** **_Indie_ and _BrandedFaithfully_ are the most generous, skilled and well-rounded betas in fandom. I thank them both for their time, their counsel and the care they’ve shown for my story and its characters.**

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**Chapter** **44:** **Eavesdrop: To Listen Secretly To A Private Conversation.**

For the first time in years the celestial canvas failed to lift her spirits. Even the beauty of the sun’s timid beams of light reaching out ever so gently to the wandering clouds that glided up above had no impact. The promise of a new day didn’t wash away her despondency, her fears, or her anger. In fact, Hermione dreaded what the new day might have in store for her. Not being able to sleep or relax in her own bed, she spent most of the night by her son’s side looking for comfort and reassurance in the warmth of his tiny body. It helped but she was too agitated to stay still, her whole body reminding her of Draco’s touch, of his lips on her skin and on her mouth, while her mind recalled every word, hers and his, uttered during their argument. Restless, she sought refuge by the windowsill, glancing back, now and then, toward John’s bedroom. Over and over again she recalled the events of the previous day and found it utterly amazing that so much had happened. She couldn’t explain the Aisling family nor could she understand the bond they had with Draco Malfoy or he with them. Hermione had no doubt about his change of heart regarding Muggles and Pureblood supremacy. He and she had fallen in love, hadn’t they? They conceived a son. He openly admitted his feelings for her during his trial. Draco willingly lived among Muggles. He has found a job! Cleaning offices! Yet, she just wasn’t expecting the kind of relationship he had developed with the Aislings nor the staunch loyalty they've professed toward him. Which begged the question, how long had he been friends with Maggie, Nick and their obnoxious daughters?

Although at times he appeared to keep emotionally distant from them, more often than not he behaved as no one had ever seen him act, ever. He joked, he laughed and teased them, and if that wasn’t incredible enough, Maggie Aisling scolded, caressed and looked at him as only a mother would! The similarities between the former Death Eater and The Boy Who Lived and their adoptive families were rather astounding. The Aisling family saw past Draco’s brooding, his arrogance and those silences of his, which –to those who didn’t know him –were perceived as a ‘I don’t want to bother with the likes of you’ attitude. It all meant he had retreated behind his walls. It was obvious Draco had confided in the Aislings, or at least in the three eldest members. Hermione recalled, during her clandestine visit to the Aisling’s place, the concern and care in Nicky’s voice as she asked Draco whether or not he had come clean about the other woman. Had they advised him to do so? And he listened to them? Hermione understood and knew him and, apparently, so did they. His Muggles friends puzzled her. Something other than their ‘in your face’ attitude bothered Hermione. Their eyes, the way they pierced through her. Being under a microscope took a new meaning for her. Hermione felt empathy for every micro-organism in the world. Hard to believe they were Muggles. She just couldn’t put her finger on it but there was more to those blasted women than just looks.

Draco had changed and, yet, he hadn’t at the same time. The pride in his name, even though that name incited hatred and revulsion, was intact. He could be persistent and relentless. It frightened her. He promised he wouldn’t take John Albus away from her but he might if she insisted in behaving like the bitter bitch who taunted and provoked him the night before. She baited him and he fell for it and yet, in spite of his fury, he managed to sound conciliatory. The old Draco would’ve ripped her apart. _‘_ _You_ _may_ _think_ _there_ _’_ _s_ _no_ _future_ _for_ _us._ _I_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _agree_ _and_ _will_ _prove_ _it_ _to_ _you._ _’_ Did she mention Draco could be as stubborn as a mule? The fact that he could say that warmed her all over; she couldn’t deny the little happy dance her heart did when he said it, just like she couldn’t talk to him without that ‘other woman’ messing up with her head and controlling her like a puppet, putting words in her mouth.

Draco Malfoy, the assertive father, made her feel not as needed by her son as when she was all by herself. Father and son had bonded in just a few days. Whoever saw them together would see it and feel it. If he were to pursue his claim to share custody in a Muggle court he’d get it. He had a magnificent home in Scotland, an ‘extended’ family, a job and money, not pounds but bars of gold! He’d win because she’d never use John Albus to hurt Draco. And that’s what made her angry. The fact that he threatened her and that it was her anger and frustration which coated every word that came out of her mouth. She was still angry and too afraid and hurt not to react like the scorned, betrayed woman that she was, and yet Hermione hated feeling like this. As for her future with Draco? She loved him and not being able to put his betrayal aside made her miss him even more and yes, deep down Hermione feared she might lose him. But, whenever she came in close proximity to Draco the ghost of that woman came between her want, her pain and the desire to have Draco back in her life.

A gush of irritated breath came out of her mouth as her fingers clawed at her scalp. Hermione lifted her head and opened her half-closed eyelids, squared her shoulders as she gazed out the window and welcomed the new day. She’d gone through a seven year conflict with dark magic which culminated in a horrific battle. She had managed the unthinkable: she forgave Draco Malfoy, and then went on to face ridicule, scorn and hatred because of the man she fell in love with

Could she do it again? Another sigh. Rising, she wrapped her arms around her chest and watched the first light come through. Out of nowhere the imaginary dark clouds hovering above her vanished. This time rather than anger, pride whispered in her ear. She’d try, she’d trudge up the long way to forgiveness. How? No idea. She’d play it by ear. Let Draco make the first move. He wanted to woo her? Well, wooing wasn't what she required but he could figure that out by himself. In the meantime she had a son and a shop to look after. Her lips, no longer a thin line, lifted and curved upward. Mr. Malfoy and his friends had fun at her expense, didn’t they? Maybe what Draco needed was a little competition and a lesson. And she knew exactly who would fit the bill. Revenge, payback, a taste of your own medicine? Why the bloody hell not!

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Looking down from his broom, Draco grunted and swore under his breath. Idiot! Arsehole! Tosser! Yes, he blew it! And he could’ve throttled Hermione for mentioning Harry ‘fucking’ Potter in the same breath as their son. He came to a swift stop in mid-air and lingered there for a few moments. His shirt clung to his back as tiny drops of sweat rolled down his face. The constant wind ghosted over his features, cooling him all over. From his vantage point the world below him didn’t beckon at all. Up there, on his broom with only open space around him, nothing could touch him. Free to go as fast or as slow as he wished, to fly far away and leave everything behind. He shook his head and moved slowly in a circle and stopped again. It might come to a surprise to most but after the war, running away, not even with the certainty of having to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, was never an option. He’d been a coward most of his life, that is until Hermione Granger. She saved him from himself. Without her... Oh Merlin! Did he dare think what it would be like without her?

A shiver ran down his spine, his chest strained to contain not only the air he breathed but the almost out of control beating of his heart. _‘_ _No,_ _please_ _no!_ _’_ Draco closed his eyes tightly, holding on to his broom so fiercely that his knuckles lost their colour. All of a sudden breathing became an exertion and cold sweat drenched his whole body. Images swirled around him, out of control, disconnected. An elongated, almost transparent finger, on fire as it branded his pale skin with the Dark Mark; his father writhing in pain on the floor; the body of Charity Burbage devoured by Nagini; tongues of fire all around him, screams, cries. His mother smiling at him, the sun shining on her hair. Bodies scattered on a battle field. His schoolmates, in their common room, laughing without a care in the world. His mother lying on the ground, her clothes in tatters, her face battered and her eyes reaching out desperately, begging, crying out. Nightmares and good memories intertwined. The Great Hall at Hogwarts, bright, cheerful and full of innocent children, the ones he betrayed. The more he tried to close his mind to the assault the more frantic, horrific and numerous the images. His eyelids closed shut, Draco zoomed through the sky, attempting to out-run the ghosts of his past. Blood pounded in his head. What he feared the most appeared as real as if it was just happening: his aunt Bellatrix’s crazed laughter and Hermione’s screams as the older witch inflicted as much pain as it was humanly possible to the one person representing everything the bigoted Death Eater loathed. Draco plunged his broom to oblivion and still he couldn’t open his eyes. A baby’s face smiled at him and Draco clung to the image of his son without being able to stop the free fall to a certain death. From the deepest recesses of his mind he willed more images of John Albus to come forward. Perspiration ran down his back, over his eyes and within his fingers. He blinked and reached again for John Albus, for the memories old and new of his son but to no avail. From the deepest, darkest places within him, Draco outstretched an imaginary hand for Hermione, just as he’d done many times during his night terrors as he screamed her name believing he’d lost her. She would hold him, rock him like a baby. Love him in spite of the monster he used to be. Draco turned his broom into a loop and avoided crashing into the ground as he flew high up crushing the handle of his broom with all his might. Coming to a full stop he screamed to the open space around him and exhausted he let his shoulders sag as his head hung low, hidden by his windblown strands.

Ever so slowly, as if his heart was a young deer who had been running wild until its legs couldn’t take it anymore, the life-giving muscle nestled within his chest regained its normal rhythm. Despair engulfed him. Would he ever be free of these attacks? Shaking his head violently, Draco resumed his journey not caring where his broom took him and for a while that’s just what he did, he flew without direction. Tired after the small battle he had won–– because he’d pushed those demons away, hadn’t he?–– Draco’s only wish was to fly. And on and on he flew until suddenly, he came to a full stop. He had fought them this time, those images and the panic that ensued, somehow he clawed his way out of the abyss; because of John Albus, because of Hermione. Yes, –whereas before he’d be a mess, a defeated poor little boy, cowering in a corner, crying and begging for it to stop– Draco realized he had brought it to a stop this time. The love for his son and Hermione were the weapons he could count on to confront those nightmares. No, he refused to give up, to let his past win. Neither would he let go of Hermione. He was Draco Malfoy, head of one of the most ancient pureblood families in the wizarding world, and as such, it was his duty to offer his son and future children a name they would be proud of. By all that he held dear he’d die trying. Not only to restore his family’s good name but to love and cherish the people he cared the most in his life: Hermione, John Albus and his mother.

Love swelled in his chest; so overwhelming Draco thought his body wouldn’t be able contain it. A tiny little boy saved him. John Albus Malfoy Granger, his son. A life he created with Hermione. No, a thousand times no. He’d fight against any obstacle the obstinate ex-Gryffindor princess placed on his path. And as far as these frightful episodes were concerned? He would conquer them and reduce them to nothing but ashes because he refused to believe that loving Hermione had meant nothing, that her sacrifice and his mother’s wasn’t worth fighting for, when he knew very well he’d done nothing to deserve it. They gave him love and forgiveness, whether or not he was worthy of their gifts, giving up would feel like the worst of betrayals. Dawn broke over the horizon and he had to shield his eyes from the bright light. His life had purpose, his pride wouldn’t allow Draco Malfoy to give up, not when he finally understood what was at stake. Self-preservation aside, and Merlin only knew how selfish he could be, Draco had a debt of honour to his mother and Hermione. He also had a witch to court and win over, and the nagging sensation that he might actually have a challenger lurking around his girl gave purpose and urgency to his plans. No better time than the present. He’d said he’d be at her flat first thing in the morning and he was already late. Let the games begin!

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Already the engineer had come and asked for the keys for the empty shop next door. At seven o’clock! John Albus woke up in a sour mood in spite of an almost twelve-hour rest. She’d kill for a strong cup of tea but couldn’t find the bloody tea bags and she still had to get her son and herself ready. Tears stung her eyes. She could do this, she must and she will. Millions of single mothers around the world managed and so would she. John Albus lifted his arms, she picked him up.

“I know it’s all new to you, baby, but we can’t go back. You need to help mummy!” She kissed his head, frowned and lowered herself to the couch placing John on her lap.

Her knuckles settled on the toddler’s cheeks, her lips then graced his temple. “Oh, God! You have a fever!” John Albus whimpered and Hermione leaned on the couch, dropped her shoulders and considered her options. A fever couldn’t be ignored but should be monitored very closely. No daycare for her little guy which meant he’d have to stay with her and if he didn’t improve a doctor’s visit was a must.

A knock on the door startled her. The engineer was back already? Sighing, she pushed herself up, settled John on her hip and dragged her feet to the door and opened it.

“I’m late, sorry.” Draco kissed her lightly on the lips and came in.

Her childish and petty self-talk a couple of hours before didn’t matter nor did their fight now that Draco stood right in front of her. Inwardly she let out a sigh of relief. She felt like hugging him but all she managed was to roll on her heals and gaze at him, pride be damned! One could hardly call him just a wizard looking as ruggedly handsome as he did in Muggle clothes. He must have come out of the shower just a few minutes ago. His wet long locks of hair touched his shoulders moistening the collar of his dark blue T-shirt which clung snuggly to his torso. His jeans, crisp and ironed, fit him just perfectly and there, in his grey eyes, she saw none of the anger they displayed yesterday but the familiar playful and tender smirk she so loved. He appeared relaxed and rested, while she looked like a deranged woman with the messiest of pony-tails, a half decent robe hiding her so-called pyjamas and bags under her eyes, because unlike Mr. Malfoy she had not slept a wink!

“Listen, Hermione,” Draco said as he took John Albus in his arms. Resting on his father's wide chest, John Albus closed his eyes as if ready to fall asleep again. Draco kissed the blond head as he continued on. “I just went by the place, you know the daycare? They have a drop-in centre as well. I honestly think John will be better off with me. What if he gets angry and his magic comes through or cries or hurts himself? Maybe I can take him, just for...”

“You’re right,” Hermione conceded. Time to grow up.

“... an hour and see what happens. If I’m there when..” Draco kept on going.

“Draco, I said you are right,” Hermione raised her voice.

“But there is something you should...” Draco halted for a second or so. “What did you say?” he asked with the barest hint of bewilderment in his voice.

Hermione moved to the side and let him in and then closed the door behind her. The fluttering, permanent inhabitants at the pit of her stomach, reacted at the sight of the wizard holding her baby, their baby. She’d never thought looking at a man with a small child on his chest could be sexy, arousing and why in God’s name was she going down that path when there were more important, immediate issues such as her son's feverish state?

“I said you’re right. He should be with you, it’s safer.” No way she’d ever deny John Albus his father nor use him to hurt Draco. And yes, The Prophet’s parasites might be out there and Draco was the best, the right person to protect John Albus.

“You do,” Draco stated adding, “you agree I’m right?” The mirth in his silver gaze annoyed her.

“Yes, Draco, if The Prophet minions are on the prowl, John can’t be left alone.” John Albus's flushed face distracted her and brought her close to father and son.

“He has a fever,” she said touching the baby’s rosy cheek as her other hand patted her son’s back and then stayed on Draco’s chest. Like a beacon, his argent orbs called out to her and she raised her eyes locking gazes with him.

“Oh,” Draco responded softly as his gaze lowered to her breasts. “Uh, Uhmm, a fever. What happened? He was well yesterday.”

“It happens. One day he is fine and in a matter of hours...” Draco wasn’t listening but ogling at her chest. Hermione closed the gap in her robe, “...there it is, fever.”

Neither moved from their spot in front of the door. Their eyes found each other again and there they stood, incapable of breaking the spell until John Albus cried out as he rubbed his eyes. His parents blinked, held their gazes for just a second and turned their attention to their son.

“Wait just a minute, I’ll bring a thermometer.” Without waiting for Draco’s answer she ran to the bathroom and found what she was looking for and returned swiftly to her small lounge where Draco, sitting in the armchair, was attempting to calm the baby. John Albus must be really sick, Hermione thought, if he barely had energy to cry his lungs out as he’s done thousands of times during his tantrums. And that, really worried the young mother.

Taking the small plastic cap from the tip of the digital thermometer, Hermione placed it on the baby’s ear while Draco watched with knotted eyebrows. A bip indicated it was done and Hermione took a look.

“Oh my God! Thirty nine point six, it’s dangerously high. We need to take him to the doctor right now!” she exclaimed and pivoted on her heels.

On her way to the bedroom, she dropped her robe, took off her tank top and put on the first blouse her hands landed on, forgetting her bra. She wriggled out of her shorts and took the trousers from the top of her laundry basket. On her way out she slid into a pair of flats. Her purse hung on her right shoulder as she pulled the mobile from inside it. Dialing the pediatrician’s number she ran to John’s room and, with the baby’s bag on her left shoulder, sighed with relief as Dr. Fairleigh’s secretary answered.

“Morning, Lacy, this is Hermione Granger. John has a very high fever, almost forty, we need to see Dr. Fairleigh right away.” She was already in the small lounge, taking John Albus from his father’s arms.

The baby started to cry with more vigor as Hermione laid him on the couch and proceeded to change his nappy while talking on the mobile holding on to it between her right shoulder and her chin. Having finished with both her call and changing John, she then took her son in her arms and whispered soothing words to the baby. Draco kneeled in front of her, picked up the mobile she dropped on the ground and with his other hand caressed his son’s head.

“Shouldn’t we take him to St. Mungo's instead of a Muggle healer?” he asked concerned. Hermione smiled at his use of healer instead of doctor.

“Dr. Fairleigh has been treating John since he was born. St. Mungo's is out of the question. Remember The Prophet?” Hermione handed John to Draco, who sat on the couch next to her as she took the mobile from him and dialed again.

“I’ll call a taxi and then Mr. Lynch. He needs to come and wait for the engineer to finish whatever it is he’s doing next door. I hate doing this but John Albus can’t wait.” For a moment their gazes met and without giving it a second thought, Hermione leaned on Draco and placed her head on his shoulder, the mobile forgotten. She was exhausted, stressed and so glad he was here!

“Aren’t you going to call?” he asked softly.

Without leaving the comfort of his proximity, she took the mobile and placed it on her ear. After giving directions to the taxi company, she then called Mr. Lynch. She apologized profusely not only for calling him so early but for her lack of professionalism. Mr. Lynch made her a manager, increased her wages and here she was, not being able to carry out her duties. He in return barked rather tenderly as was his custom.

“What else could I expect after having hired a young mother?” he complained. “Is that him crying? Are you still in the flat?” he asked, yelling. “What are you waiting for, get out of there! And don’t you dare come back until you’re sure the brat isn’t contagious! That’s all I need, customers getting sick because of your son. Go on! Tell Patrick not to leave without talking to me. Make sure that son of yours is well taken care of!” He hung up and Hermione couldn’t help the corners of her mouth from curving upward.

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Her hand held on to his and he wondered if Hermione was aware of it as they sat in the exam room. In fact, Draco needed her comfort as much as she needed his. John Albus lay on the examination table, whaling in pain and fear as the Muggle healer used all sort of Muggle devices on his tiny frame. He listened to his chest, looked into his eyes and ears. A wand would have been better and faster. The fingers of Hermione’s left hand brushed their son’s locks softly and continuously, while her lips kissed his forehead and whispered words of comfort to the baby. Her eyes shone with unshed tears and Draco could barely stand John’s discomfort and pleading eyes. Sweet Circe! He’d gladly take on his son’s pain. Finally, the man finished his prodding and Hermione jumped from her seat and took John in her arms. Draco pulled her to him, taking her by the shoulders. John Albus whimpered with bouts of crying in between. His face was flushed and his eyes were half closed. Draco took his son’s left hand in his.

“He has a bad ear infection, both of them actually. It’ll be a couple of sleepless nights until the antibiotics start working. My greatest concern is the high fever, it should go down within a day, no more. If it doesn’t, bring him immediately.” Dr. Fairleigh spoke in a matter of fact tone, smiling even and it annoyed Draco deeply. Shouldn’t he sound concerned, sorry even?

Hermione slipped into the vinyl-covered chair and proceeded to pull the little shirt over John Albus’s head, his little whimpers continuing to show his discomfort. The doctor handed the prescription to Draco who stared at it blankly for a moment. Kneeling, Dr. Fairleigh dug into his white robe’s right pocket and produced a lollipop as well as a small toy car. John stopped crying, temporarily distracted.

“Here, John, you hold on to the car, Mummy will keep the lollipop, okay? It’s going to get better, mate, I promise.” The doctor ruffled John’s hair and rose.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy.” He stuck out his hand and Draco quickly switched the prescription to the other hand so he could shake the doctor’s hand, as he tried to look appreciative. “Any concerns, just call. Don’t mean to rush but I have hundreds of patients today. Let me know how he is doing.” He stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Draco turned his attention to Hermione and the baby. John held on to his toy, resting his head on his mother’s chest. Hermione lifted her gaze; the vulnerability and fear in her eyes tugged at Draco’s heart.

“Here, I’ll take him.” Hermione hesitated and he lifted his eyebrows. “I know nothing about Muggle potions or anti..antio...”

“Antibiotics,” she corrected him handing John Albus to him. “And it’s medicine not potions and doctor, not healer. Honestly, Draco, you’ve been around Muggles long enough to know about these things.” Nothing felt as right as having the know-it-all back and it was so easy to do!

“Right, that. I also have no idea where to get those either.” He opened the door while she hung John’s bag on her shoulder.

They filled the prescription at the chemist ––a name he hadn’t heard before––, hailed a taxi and made it to her flat in record time: it was not even ten o’clock by the time they stepped into her place. John Albus was calmer but it didn’t last long. Sick as he was, the baby put up a hell of a fight when Hermione attempted to give him the medicine. It took some very complicated physical maneuvering and swearing under Draco’s breath to make the baby open his mouth and swallow the sodding medicine. Not even two years old and the youngest Malfoy could be as stubborn and iron-willed as the best of them. Frustrating as that was, it made Draco proud as well. Having been outsmarted by his parents, John made sure they knew how he felt about it, which translated in a hell of a lot crying and screaming. Hermione paced and talked to John but nothing helped. The littlest Malfoy refused to listen. Wasn’t he supposed to be in pain and burning up? Stubborn wasn’t the right word that came to mind. Time for Daddy to take control of the situation. Draco took his wand out, aimed it at the broom leaning against the corner in the small kitchen and reduced its size making it float gently toward John.

“John, would you like to fly on it?” And just like that, John Albus’ tantrum came to an end as he hurled himself at the floating broom.

“Draco!” Hermione all but yelled. “I won’t have...”

“He is not crying and he is sick and I won’t have my son suffer,” he interjected. Draco held on to John’s back as the toddler hovered over the ground.

His small fingers held on the broom, hesitant at first as he ‘flew’ around the lounge and made his way to his bedroom with his father’s hand constantly guiding him. Unwell as he was, John’s broad smile and obvious delight pleased Draco very much. He gifted Hermione with a ‘I told you so’ smirk and restrained himself from kissing her indignation away.

Hermione trailed after them and prepared John’s bed, scowling at Draco. John, of course, wasn’t too happy about the end of his trip. The broom hovered low to the ground and by the baby’s bed. Draco, with John in his arms, lowered himself to the bed.

“Daddy, more,” his son implored softly as he snuggled in his father’s chest.

“I promise you’ll give it another go after your nap, but only if you take your medicine.” Draco closed his eyes and tightened his arms around his son’s warm body. It still amazed him how easy it’s been to love his son. He couldn’t explain it or understand it. He never thought it’d be possible to have room in his battered and very small heart for another person other than himself, Hermione and his mother and yet, here he was, at the mercy of a little boy, his son. His son!

“Draco,” Hermione whispered. He blinked putting a stop to his wandering thoughts. “He’s asleep,” she informed him.

Nodding, Draco placed John on the bed while Hermione pulled the duvet over their son. She kissed John’s brow and left. Draco lingered for a moment and then turned his gaze to the half closed door. She was waiting for him, ready for another fight. He wouldn't be baited this time. He pushed himself up, glanced one last time at the sleeping baby and made his way to the lounge.

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She found the tea bags, thank God! Angry, stressed, tired and concerned as she was, Hermione craved for a distraction even one as mundane as preparing a cup of tea. She heard Draco before she saw him. She whirled around, the recrimination on the tip of her tongue only for it to be squashed by Draco’s lips. She murmured her disapproval, Draco laughed as his tongue started its wicked attack on the contours of her mouth, no forceful invasion just little nips on her jaw, trailing up all the way behind her ear, descending down her neck, lingering, right there, Oh, merciful God! His hands barely touched her hips, they held on to her but one move and she’d be free. Whatever he gave, it was her choice to take and she couldn’t say no because his lips, his tongue fried every neuron in her brain. She wasn’t sure when or how it happened but her arms were around his neck, her fingers buried in his hair and he was kissing her, no, they were kissing and it was glorious! It ended abruptly. She regretted it and for a couple seconds she allowed herself to mourn the loss of his kiss and the warmth his body provided.

Hermione opened her eyes, her knees struggled to support her and she leaned on the counter. Lifting her gaze she encountered Draco’s grey eyes. Hands in the front pockets of his trousers, he stared at her. No smirk or taunting glint in his eyes.

“He needed a distraction and it worked,” he challenged her. _‘_ _Just_ _like_ _it_ _worked_ _on_ _me,_ _you_ _manipulative_ _git!_ _’_  “I’ll stay with him, you go back to the shop,” he said in his best commanding tone and, damn him, he seemed to be reading her mind because his response came before she uttered a word. “It makes sense, Hermione,” he went on softening his tone. “I’m here and you need to go back down there. He’ll be fine, you know he will. You can...,” he paused, twitching his lips just a tiny bit, “call your mum instead.”

Calling Mum was out of the question and he knew it. They were John’s parents and Draco, for all his shortcomings and one huge transgression, was a good father. Gentle, loving and understanding and... crap! There it was, the fluttering in her stomach. The ever present butterflies. She swatted them back into submission. Having regained some composure, she let out a sigh and faced a confident, arrogant Draco. He knew he’d won.

“I’ll go take a shower,” she declared without looking at him. She made her way around Draco avoiding physical contact with him. Something weird had happened within her –a realization of sorts.  Too tired to dissect what those feelings meant, she shoved them aside and promised to deal with them when her brain had been oxygenated properly. That is assuming John Albus was willing to cooperate.

“You’re welcome,” she heard Draco say. She turned around before going into her bedroom. The fog in her mind scattered but not totally.

“Thank you,” she murmured, still confused and walked into her bedroom.

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Hermione showered and dressed in record time. She avoided eye contact with Draco and said three or four words altogether before she left the flat. Looking out the window, Draco wondered why her barriers were up once again. For a while it felt like he was making some progress. No threats, insults or reference to the other woman. Why the change all of a sudden? Did she regret accepting his help or kissing him back? He shook his head. No, it was something else. She looked... disconcerted. A small cry intruded in his introspection. In quick strides Draco made his way to his son’s room. Rubbing his hands on his eyes and then on his ears, John whined softly. Draco sat on the bed.

“Hey, feeling better?” Draco asked quietly. John rolled on his belly and pushed himself into a sitting position. The baby rubbed his ears again and this time his cries were followed by tears.

“I guess not,” Draco lamented. “Tell you what,” he said as he picked his son up and strolled to the lounge. “I’ll take your temperature, then you’ll help Father change you and if your fever isn’t as high as this morning, we’ll go for  a walk. We might visit Mummy. We better tell her what we’re doing otherwise we’ll never hear the end of it.” John burrowed deeper into his father’s chest.

Draco frowned. Maybe it was too soon to go out but a change of scenery might help. Had they been at their home in Hogsmeade, he’d have the gardens just outside the door. All in good time, he said to himself. Wand in hand, he was a wizard after all, Draco disposed of the soiled nappy and replaced it with a new one. Changing John into regular clothes, he could handle but never again, would he suffer disgusting, foul smelling nappies.

It was the end of June and a sunny day with just a few clouds. Draco locked the door and climbed down the stairs. Hermione told him she’d leave the back door to the shop unlocked. He turned the knob and went in. It was a small narrow place, with a couch against the wall, next to the entrance to shop. In front of the couch, a small desk. On his right, Draco noticed a refrigerator. Closing the door behind, he shifted John to a better position. John had his head on Draco’s left shoulder and the tiny fingers in his left hand combed his father’s hair. Voices reached them. A man’s and Hermione’s and she was laughing. Draco padded quietly farther into the room making sure they wouldn’t be alerted of his presence.

“That’s not what I said and you know it,” Hermione said in a tone which put Draco on the alert. “I said, we could talk about it over coffee, not that I’d agree to a date with you.”

Draco chanced a look through the door. Both had their backs to him. Their heads together and bent over a large, white piece of parchment, paper he corrected himself. The Muggle was young, tall and too close to Hermione. His blood started to boil.

“Did I say date?” the man asked and if Draco had been able to see his face he’d bet he had a wide grin on his face. “I said, Gino’s Place for a quick bite.”

“Gino’s Place. Right, candles, violin music, table for two. It sounds like a date to me, Sebastian. We had a chat about this not too long ago, remember?” She bumped his thigh with her hip. Hermione was flirting! What the fuck was going on? “Besides, my son is sick.”

Which means she’d have accepted were it not the case? Draco inhaled deeply. He’d been right. ' _No,_ _I've_ _got_ _nothing_ _to_ _tell_ _you_ _and_ _even_ _if_ _I_ _did_ _you_ _have_ _no_ _right_ _to_ _ask...'_ The Muggle was his adversary and Hermione had kept him a secret. Fuck, fuck and more fuck!

“Oh, sorry about that. What is it?” inquired the soon-to-be-dead Muggle.

“Ear infection. He has a very high fever,” Hermione answered.

“Where is he now?” asked Sebastian, the would-be-food-for-hippogriffs.

“Upstairs with his dad.” Hermione turned her head up and faced the man. Draco stepped back in order to avoid being seen.

“Oh...” Sebastian sounded disappointed.

The silence that followed was a long one. John Albus squirmed but didn’t make a sound. Draco glanced back at his child. He’d fallen asleep. Thank you, John! Draco heard movement, paper being wrapped.

“Are you back with him?” Sebastian spoke at last.

“No, I’m not. He... it’s complicated.” Her answer stung deeply.

“You still love him.” Sebastian stated.

“Sebastian, I told you...”

“I know what you told me. I also know that I’m attracted to you and you to me, no matter that you obviously have feelings for the father of your child.” The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end and Draco braced himself for what was to come. “I can prove it to you. Did you tell him about me, that we kissed?”

The hand holding on to his wand, shook violently. The implications of what he learned hurt and enraged him. He had to get out of there. He couldn’t face her, not now when he had murder in his mind. He all but ran out the back door and in swift angry steps climbed up the stairs to Hermione’s flat. He scribbled a note for Hermione, tossed what he needed in the baby’s bag and Disapparated with John Albus still sound asleep in his chest.


	45. Chapter 45

  
Author's notes: **Disclaimer:** **The intellectual property and characters belong to J K Rowling, Warner Bros and Bloomsbury Publishing. No profit is being made from it.**  


* * *

 

**Chapter 45:** **Could We Start Again?**

“Draco,” Nicky almost whispered as she leaned in closer.

“Draco!” she urged under her breath.

Draco lifted his head and turned his gaze to the baby sleeping beside him on the couch. John Albus had exhausted himself after another fit of rage. Unlike their previous experiences with Disapparation ––John slept through them–– this time John’s reaction was one for the books as he woke up right in the middle of it. As Draco stood facing the Aislings’ front door with John’s piercing cries disrupting the quiet and peaceful neighbourhood, he felt like joining his son and surrender to the rage eating away every shred of his self-control. There wasn’t any need to knock. John Albus was screaming himself hoarse. Nicky opened the door and pushed them inside, taking the baby from his arms without even glancing at Draco, foregoing any questions. Draco watched, standing in the middle of the tiny living room as Nicky swayed from side to side with John on her chest. Her lips moved, but Draco couldn’t hear the soothing words that were spoken nor had he realised that at some point Nicky had taken John to the garden. He didn’t move, still clinging to his wand and not caring about it. By the time Nicky came back to the house, John had fallen asleep. Nicky took the baby’s bag from Draco’s shoulder with her left hand, dropped it on the armchair and then gently placed the baby on the couch and covered him with the small throw resting on the back of the couch. She placed the bag on the floor, sat on the armchair, and waited for an explanation. 

A few moments later, Draco imitated her and slid gently beside his son, making sure he didn’t disturb the baby, his wand tucked under his left thigh, too late to hide it in his secret pocket. Nicky, either didn’t notice or opted to ignore it. She stared at him, at his whole body. Her wandering gaze much like a healer’s wand examining Draco from top to bottom and then doing it all over again. At some point their eyes met. Nicky’s exuded understanding and regret, as if she knew what had happened, but she couldn’t possibly know. Holding on to her gaze, Draco couldn’t help but sense that Nicky’s perusal went beyond that of a normal Muggle. She wasn’t a witch, he proved it and yet, there was a very particular spark in those irises. The same invasive glint he’d seen hundreds of times in Snape, Dumbledore and the son of a bitch better known as Tom Riddle as they sifted through the maze in people’s minds. Nicky’s gaze was as gentle as the late headmaster’s and because of it, Draco lowered his gaze. Remembering Dumbledore’s pleading and compassionate stare would always feel like a punch in the stomach. Before those feelings escalated and morphed into another one of his ‘episodes’, Draco glanced over to his son and there his thoughts stayed until Nicky spoke at last.

“The baby is obviously sick and you aren’t doing any better so, start talking,” she demanded, sounding more concerned than annoyed.

Shifting his body toward his son, Draco placed his right hand on John’s chest, searching for comfort and serenity. Some of his tension diminished. He looked at John Albus for a long while as Sebastian’s words bounced in his head over and over again. Eventually, Draco lifted his gaze. Nicky had inched her way closer to the couch, her brows knitted together as her eyes glided over John. It was so unlike her not to demand a response! Sighing, the young woman straightened her posture and met Draco’s gaze.

“Running away with her sick son in tow won’t solve anything little brother. You need to go back, she’ll be frantic,” she said worriedly.

“I left her a par... a note.”

Nicky paid no mind to his almost slip of the tongue.

“It doesn’t matter, Draco. John is sick. He needs his mother and he most certainly isn’t a punishment tool for his mother, no matter what it is you think she’s done that deserves punishment.” The admonishment in her tone made Draco see red. Nicky must have sensed it because her hand wrapped itself around his left arm and tightened. “Don’t do something you might regret, Draco,” she cautioned him gently.

Feeling lost and confused, Draco relented as he listened to her warning. “I just couldn’t stay there. If I had...” Without thinking, his gaze lowered to his right thigh. Nicky followed the path of his eyes and when her gaze connected with his there wasn’t any indication that she was aware of what lay under his thigh.

Her eyes squinted, trying to figure him out. “Draco, what happened?” she asked concerned as the fingers around his arm loosened and rested on his hand.

“She’s seeing someone else, she’s kept him a secret,” he blurted through gritted teeth. His hand folded into a tight, angry fist. Nicky regained her upright position freeing Draco’s hand.

Draco debated whether or not to tell Nicky what had transpired in the bookshop. He had already said too much. It still bewildered him how much he had come to rely and trust in the Aislings’ counsel. It didn’t mean that confiding in Nicky, Maggie or Nick was easy or comfortable for him. His pride was the one thing he could always count on and Hermione’s lies cut deep. If he didn’t get it off his chest he’d burst into pieces. In a few words he related what he had witnessed and heard at the bookshop. The fury which re-emerged as he told Nicky what had happened made him restless; Draco left the couch and walked briskly toward the kitchen, his wand forgotten. Nicky caught up with him and leaned on the worktop which stood between the kitchen and the living room. Draco paced angrily, shoving his fisted hands in the front pockets of his trousers.

“She kissed a bloke,” she stated matter-of-factly. “You, on the other hand, shagged another woman. Don’t you think there’s a big difference?” Her question, laced with sarcasm and reprimand stopped him in his tracks.

“She lied to me,” he retorted, feeling completely justified, but Nicky’s resulting chuckle was not the response he wanted. Annoyed, he reached for his wand, his sense of security, only to feel panic settle into his chest. Merlin’s fucking beard! His wand, he forgot all about it! Draco pivoted on his heels facing the window to hide the panic in his features. He’d never been this careless before, not even during his first days in Muggle London as he frantically searched for Hermione. Gods, he was a mess! And as usual, Nicky wasn’t helping. Taking a deep breath he turned around. Nicky, arms folded across her chest met his gaze lifting her eyebrows. She obviously expected an answer. Draco was too furious to oblige and now had another concern. 

“Why didn’t you tell her about that other woman right away?” Nicky asked, looking at him in that particular way the Aisling females tended to do. Most people would zero in on the eyes looking for the tell tale sign of some unspoken meaning, not Nicky or Maggie and to a lesser extend Gaby or Suzy. Sure that’s where they’d start but not for long. Soon the wandering orbs would drift aimlessly all around you, through you, and then they’d go back to piercing you with those magical pools of golden amber that were their eyes.

As for Nicky’s inquiry? Nicky knew half the answer. The day he spent the night at the Aislings, Maggie convinced Draco telling the truth about his infidelity was the right thing to do and certain as he was, that Hermione had found out about it, Draco came clean. Not very noble, since most people would argue he had no choice, but he did it when most men would have kept quiet. He took the risk and look what it got him. Rage and fear seized him again. Nicky abandoned her spot and shortened the space between them, taking Draco by the arms. They were the same height, her face bare centimetres from his.

“Draco,” Nicky said, looking at him with apprehension in her eyes. Her hands closed firmly around his arms, not allowing him to turn away from her. “Calm down, think about your son, about your future with Hermione, and don’t jump to conclusions. What if she’s decided to tell you about that man? What if she’s afraid of your reaction? Remember what it was like for you?”

Draco opened his mouth and closed it, a slow breath easing out of his nose. As he looked at her, his mind drifted to a vision of Hermione as he recalled her subtle subtle change after their kiss in her kitchen. Maybe Nicky was on to something. What he felt when he told Hermione about his infidelity was relief, that much was true, so was the dread and fear of admitting his mistake. However, the result was the fix they found themselves in now. He had to win Hermione’s trust and respect again and to add insult to injury he had competition. The probability of losing Hermione was unthinkable. Picturing that Muggle kissing her made him want to _Crucio_ the bastard. Facing Hermione right now, feeling the way he did, might be counter-productive and yet, Draco yearned for that confrontation.

“This is what we’re going to do,” Nicky offered looking directly at him as his attention shifted back to her. “We’ll take John Albus back. I’ll take him,” she said, daring him to argue. “I’d rather she take her anger out on me than the two of you starting World War Three.”

“I’m going with you and that’s final,” Draco said in a terse tone as he stepped away from Nicky.

“Is the really wise?” Nicky warned him. “Neither of you are going to listen to each other right now. She is not only worried but most likely angry at you for taking off without a valid explanation.” Nicky waived off his retort. “Note or not, Hermione must know something is wrong. John is sick, he has a fever, that should be your priority right now.”

“And seeing you with John Albus in your arms is going to pacify her? You can come with me but I’ll be the one returning John Albus to Hermione,” Draco insisted. If he had to _Stupefy_ her he would. “I won’t make a scene,” he reluctantly conceded.

Nicky let out a sigh. “Fine. Let’s go.”  Nicky was already on her way to the lounge by the time Draco’s feet proceeded to move.

Gently, she scooped the baby up from the couch, keeping the throw around his body. Draco rushed to pick his wand up, covertly slipping it back into the charmed pocket by the right hand side of his trousers and grabbed the baby’s bag. Nicky gifted Draco with a smirk when he met her gaze.

“We’ll talk about that,” she nodded toward his trousers, more pointedly to where his wand was concealed, “later.”

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ 

What was taking Harry so long? Something was wrong. Regardless of the cryptic note left by Draco, Hermione was certain something wasn’t right. ‘ _I’ll bring him back.’_ That’s all Draco wrote.

It had been a busy morning. She had an improvised, lengthy meeting with Mr. Lynch and Patrick Tyndall, the engineer. Minutes after Mr. Tyndall left, Sebastian was summoned by Mr. Lynch. Half an hour later he arrived with his designs. The three of them discussed what the engineer had suggested regarding the structure of the shop next door and went over Sebastian’s modifications. By lunch time Sebastian and she were the only ones left arguing about which wall should go, the length of the windows up front, or whether or not the front of the building needed a face-lift. She might have indulged in a bit of playful bantering with the gorgeous man, maybe some flirting but that’s where it stopped. She couldn’t help thinking of John Albus sick and probably asking for mummy nor could she ignore who was taking care of her son. Draco didn’t have a mobile phone and her flat was still without a telephone service so she had to wait past lunch time to sneak out and check on John Albus.

It took her less than a few seconds to realise that Draco and John Albus were gone and, when she found the note on the small coffee table, she all but lost it. She called Harry immediately; grateful that her friend had accepted her suggestion of acquiring a mobile since she had no other method of reaching him. Harry and Ginny Apparated within minutes of her call. No sooner had she shown Harry the note, he offered to look for Draco. That was ages ago!

“Where the hell is Harry?” Hermione asked frantically.

“He only left a few minutes ago, Hermione,” Ginny said, taking Hermione by the shoulders, “and you need to calm down... sit.”

“I can’t... what’s taking him so long?” she demanded returning to her anxious pace across the lounge.

“Hermione,” Ginny paused, hesitated for a moment and then continued, “aren’t you overreacting maybe just a little?”

Was she? Draco had done nothing to warrant her panic, at least until now. He’d been patient, considerate and gentle with John Albus. He offered to help her take care of their son. He kissed her and for the first time since she learned of his affair, no unwanted images of the bitch intruded in her thoughts. They were a family, albeit for a few hours, and it felt right. It disturbed her a little that she could envision a future with Draco so soon after his confession. He insisted he’d win back her trust and love. A few hours ago she’d seen evidence of this. Why then, did Draco leave? Had John’s condition deteriorated? Was it something else? And why did she listen to Harry and stayed behind?

“Why leave a note when I was a few steps away?” Hermione asked exasperated. “Did something happen to John? Has his fever gone up?” She collapsed on the couch, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her chest.

Ginny kneeled in front of her. “Malfoy may be many things but  even I have to admit he loves his son. You know that, don’t you?” Hermione nodded, blinking back tears. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.” Ginny leaned back, folding her hands on her lap, her features expectant and hopeful.  “He could’ve gone for a walk to distract John Albus and didn’t want to disturb you.” Ginny didn’t sound too sure about that.

If Draco put her through this hell for no reason, she’d hex the sodding bastard to within an inch of his life. If her son’s condition had worsened and Draco decided to take care of it without consulting her, she’d kill him!

A knock on the door snapped Hermione to attention. Draco wouldn’t knock, why would he, when he could Apparate? She bolted from the couch, barely missing Ginny, who was still kneeling on the floor. Yanking the door open, Hermione let out a gasp.

“Where have you been?” she yelled, relieved and furious at the same time, taking John Albus from his father’s arms. She kissed her son’s flushed cherubic face repeatedly. Hermione turned back to the living room expecting Draco to follow her. John Albus’s small cries and obvious discomfort enraged her. She’ll deal with Draco later, right now she needed to make sure the baby’s fever hadn’t gone up. 

“I need his bag,” Hermione said sharply as she rotated on her heels and faced Draco, who was still standing outside the door. But, Draco didn’t have the bag.

Just as Hermione was about to open her mouth, Harry Apparated back from his search. “Hermione, I couldn’t...” Harry paused and frowned at the sight of Draco, glancing back to Hermione and Ginny; his green eyes filled with questions and the expected displeasure at the presence of his former arch-enemy.

John Albus had become more and more agitated. She couldn’t care less if Draco and Harry got into a row. Her one and only concern was her son. “I need his bag Draco,” Hermione requested, locking her angry gaze with his, suddenly conscious of Draco’s stiff stand and glacial stare.

“Here you go, Hermione,” Nicky offered coming in from behind Draco.

Hermione froze for a second, her eyes snapped back at Draco and then landed on the Aisling cow. “What is she doing here?” she demanded sharply, seething with rage.

 ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ 

The sight of Hermione’s friends brought a sour taste to his mouth. Facing her, after what he’d learned, raised the intensity of his anger to a new level. Draco wanted to shake her, scream at her and, because he was certain it wouldn’t be enough for him and for reasons Draco couldn’t care less to explain he still wanted Hermione; he needed to stake his claim on his woman by ravishing her mouth for all to see and if that didn’t work then he’d drag her to bed. Angry sex Hermione called it and he most certainly was angry. Restraining his fury and lustful thoughts took every ounce of self-control. Draco was itching for something or someone to hex into bits but John was crying and a very attractive and extremely outspoken Muggle stood in the mist of them. Nicky breezed in, appearing unconcerned about the thick tension in the room, John’s discomfort, or Hermione’s fierce reaction to her presence. He’d let the Muggle witch –Nicky might be a Muggle but a fascinating one– do whatever it is she does to unsuspecting, unguarded mortals, as long as she managed to get rid of Hermione’s bodyguards. Draco wasn’t leaving until he and Hermione talked. 

“You know men,” Nicky said, taking Draco by the elbow and nudging him slightly inside the flat, closing the door as she went on, “too proud to admit they’re in over their heads.” She approached Hermione and grazed her right knuckles over John’s dampened cheeks. “You’re feeling miserable, aren’t you darling?” she asked fondly, looking directly into Hermione’s thunderous and murderous irises.

Draco hid the satisfaction at Nicky’s subtle chiding. Reminded of her son’s illness, Hermione stiffened her posture, throwing a few more daggers at Nicky and then stomped out of the living room. “She’d better be gone by the time I come back,” Hermione instructed her friends, paying no mind to Draco and casting a dirty look at Nicky before turning the corner toward John’s room; which left Draco to deal with the unsavoury yet satisfying task of getting rid of Potter, his girlfriend and lastly Nicky, his very annoying champion who stood in the middle of the lounge gifting Hermione’s friends with her particular, unsettling gaze.

Getting rid of Nicky might prove to be a challenge, which didn’t surprise him at all. “Well, I guess introductions are in order,” she said, sauntering toward the couple and extending her right hand introducing herself. “Nicky Aisling.” She made a face. “Nicolina sounds like some kind of pasta, don’t you think?”

Potter returned the gesture, shifting uncomfortably on his spot and if Draco didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn there was a rosy glow in the wanker’s face. Carrot head Weasley’s cheeks crimsoned with disapproval, as she greeted Nicky with a narrow gaze. _‘Jealous, are we?’_ Draco thought with glee. John’s soft cries reached him. Guilt tugged at him. He shouldn’t have taken John out and it sounded like Hermione was having a hard time calming the baby. Best leave Nicky to do what she does best: discombobulate you until you don’t know your right hand from your left.

“I’ll go and check on John Albus,” he said turning on his heels.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Nicky grabbed Draco by the back of his shirt, “there’ll be no shouting, finger pointing or any other unpleasant behaviour until you and Hermione cool down,” she admonished as she glanced at Harry and Ginny, nodding her head toward Draco. “You agree, don’t you?” Nicky queried, seeking the approval of the couple.

“Let go of me, Nicky,” Draco threatened. “This is between Hermione and me,” he said, grabbing Nicky’s wrist with enough pressure to send the message.

“And us, Malfoy,” Potter’s lips barely moved while his green, menacing gaze bore into Draco. “This is Hermione’s flat, she’s asked us to come and we’re staying.”

Draco’s right hand twitched. Were it not for Nicky’s presence he’d finally get his chance to hex the fucking tosser and bane of his existence. The red-headed Weasel moved a few more paces toward her boyfriend.

“Okay, the three of you stop it right now!” Nicky scolded them, throwing an angry, exasperating look at them as she stood between Draco and Hermione’s friends. “Good grief! How old are you? Five?”

“What are you up to Malfoy?” Potter asked leaning toward Draco, ignoring her. Nicky brought her right hand up and placed it on Harry’s chest as the left one landed on Draco’s torso.

“I don’t know what’s going on...,” Nicky’s words were cut short.

“No, you don’t,” the Weasel girl said affronted, taking another step which brought her by Potter’s side.

Nicky’s stance changed. With narrowed eyes, her gaze fluctuated back and forth between the three young adults. Draco had seen that gleam before and shifted uncomfortably on his heels. She was doing that ‘thingy’ again with her eyes. Potter and the Weasel girl just stood there, quiet, staring expectantly at Nicky whose gaze covered the three of them from head to toe and back again. For a couple of seconds, the three rivals exchanged glances, as if having their own wordless conversation about the strange change in attitude of Draco’s Muggle friend. Done with her examination or whatever one wished to call it, Nicky’s playful and still worried amber gaze collided with Potter and his girlfriend, lingered there for a few moments and then swiftly turned to Draco. _‘What are you plotting Nicky?’_ Draco asked himself.

“Right, I see,” Nicky murmured. “First things first. You,” she addressed Draco, “baby isn’t crying. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? But, you’re still angry and so is Hermione, not that good.”

“And you,” Nicky declared pointing her right index finger at the the other two, “not that happy with Draco, also not good. Which leaves us with what? A very sick baby and four, very cross adults, ready to have it out because of...,” Nicky regarded the three of them with that most annoying conceited glint in her eyes as she continued, “some ancient rivalry?” she asked about to break into a smile.

_‘Fuck and bugger’_ cursed Draco inwardly. How did she do it?

“That’s enough from you Nicky,” Hermione’s presence startled all of them.

Draco couldn’t help but stare at Hermione. Knowing Hermione as well as he did, he was certain she would demand an explanation and wasn’t too happy with him which made two of them. He wasn’t happy with her either and he too wanted some clarification. But, looking at Hermione closely, the redness in her eyes was an obvious sign that she’d been crying and in her strained features Draco recognized Hermione’s exhaustion and anxiety.  Something shifted within him. The disappointment and anger he felt not a few minutes ago intermingled with tenderness. Draco was torn between demanding an explanation and the urge to take her in his arms.

“Is John feeling better?” Draco asked Hermione softly, without any bitterness in his voice.

Hermione nodded. “He’s sleeping, but the fever hasn’t gone down and he’s still in pain,” she responded quietly. “The next dose of his antibiotics is in two hours,” she added.

Which should give them plenty of time to sort Sebastian out. There’s no way Draco could wait, he refused to leave until he knew the truth not only about Hermione’s involvement with Sebastian but about the state of their own relationship.

“Is there anything you’d want us to do?”  Weasley asked, taking Hermione by the shoulders. “Harry and I could take care of the shop for a few hours.”

“I talked to Mr. Lynch a few minutes ago. The shop will remain closed until tomorrow, but thanks,” Hermione squeezed her friend’s hand and attempted a smile, failing miserably.

“You look about ready to pass out Hermione,” Potter, the wanker, added as he stood by Hermione’s right side. Weasley was on the left.

“I’m alright,” Hermione said, leaning into Potter.

“And we need to talk,” Draco retorted. “Now.”

“We certainly do,” Hermione squared her shoulders and met Draco’s eyes.

“I’m not leaving until we do, Hermione,” Draco stated, sneaking a glance at the three people witnessing their exchange.

Potter and the Weasel girl were ready to produce their wands. Draco could read their body language perfectly. He’d seen the signs hundreds of times. Nicky had taken a step back and stared at the four of them, tilting her head to one side, frowning. Hermione turned her attention to Nicky, narrowing her gaze. Nicky, in turn, sighed loudly.

“Draco,” Nicky started to speak only to be interrupted by Draco.

“I’m not leaving. You are, all of you,” Draco confronted Potter and his girlfriend.

“Have you forgotten John Albus isn’t feeling well?” Nicky chided him. “Look at the two of you! You don’t want to talk. You both are...” she paused, apparently scrambling for words, her eyes darting from Draco to Hermione. “... you... oh bugger! Talk isn’t what you want, is it? Talk means you’d listen, are you willing to do it?” She challenged them both, engaging in a dueling match with Hermione’s flaring eyes.

“None of  your business, Nicky,” Draco insisted.

Draco expected more veiled threats from either Potter or Hermione, but not the quiet which engulfed them. Quiet and stillness which didn’t last long because Nicky took the initiative once more just as Hermione was about to speak.

“Well, you want to talk, so be it. This is what I propose.” Hermione rolled her eyes and inhaled soundly. The Weasel witch snorted looking at Nicky with an intensity which made Draco wonder if the uneasiness he’d be feeling around Nicky had some merit.

“You two go down to the shop, we’ll look after John. Talk if that’s what you want but...” Nicky took a few steps back, locking gazes with Draco as she continued, “... don’t keep anything in, what happened, why and how it made you feel. All of it, you two. Deal with your anger and all the recriminations, past and present. Deal with the consequences of your very stupid, foolish decisions and if you’d think you can work out your differences my suggestion is leave that rubbish behind once and for all.” One last warning glance at Draco and Nicky turned to Potter. “Would you like to add anything else?”

“Ginny and Harry can look after John Albus, I trust them with my life,” Hermione enunciated the last sentence in a sharply ironical taunt. Draco smirked. Nicky smiled, brushing off Hermione’s not too subtle slight.

“No need to worry about your friends Hermione,” Nicky said. “They can take care of themselves, I’m sure of it.” Aside from the taunting in her tone, Draco sensed there were more to her words. He trembled on his spot. Nicky noticed his wand which didn’t catch her unawares. She was curious, not surprised, why? How could she possibly take a twig for nothing else but a twig? She promised they’d talk about ‘it’. Oh, fucking, blasted Merlin and all the gods! His stomach dropped, his heart had all but stopped beating. Had he been found out? The Aislings knew about magic? Hermione’s voice pulled him back from his disturbing thoughts.

“Need I remind you, that this is my home? That you have come uninvited and, for reasons which elude me, refuse to leave?” Hermione asked, obviously furious and beyond exasperated. “My friends are going to look after John Albus and you, Nicky, are leaving. This has nothing to do with you.” She didn’t wait for Nicky’s reply and trod angrily on the floor, making her way to the door, opening it defiantly.

“Don’t worry about Draco, he can take care of himself,” Hermione teased Nicky. Weasley laughed under her breath.

“As you wish,” Nicky replied meeting Hermione’s gaze. “I’m not the enemy you know?” she said making her way to the door. “We care for Draco, just like your friends do for you. He’s like our brother, you’ve got nothing to worry about Hermione, he is all yours.”

Nicky turned to Draco, who stood by the door, and stared into his eyes. No trace of mirth or self-assurance, only concern and a plea for caution. She took his right hand and pulled him toward the door, opened it and stepped into the landing. Nicky leaned her head forward and whispered in his ear, “Remember what’s at stake little brother. You love her Draco, and she loves you. Don’t throw it all away.” She then kissed his cheek. “Dinner is at seven, call if you won’t be able to make it.” She winked at him as she climbed down the stairs.

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She’d been waiting for Draco, and the longer he took the angrier she felt. As soon as Nicky left, Draco walked past her friends without saying a word and made his way to John’s bedroom. The sparks between the two of them had nothing to do with lust this time. They were more like belligerent tiny hexes cast at each other. A sense of doom permeated the little flat ever since she became aware of Draco’s forbidding attitude. The fact that he had run to Nicky, rather than talk to her, made Hermione feel irrelevant. Not a good place to be with the father of her child. Nicky’s got a lot of cheek to come into her home and give out orders! The woman had a thick skin, that’s for sure. And like her mother, Nicky Aisling had the remarkable ability to grasp with uncanny accuracy people’s state of mind. Which brought her thoughts back to Draco. What happened? What could have possibly changed in a matter of hours? For the first time in days, they behaved like a normal couple and then...this. Why?

“Let’s go,” Draco announced as he briskly walked toward the door. 

Hermione closed her eyes, prayed for constraint, and breathed in soundly. Having been snapped back from her meandering musings by Draco’s curt command added kindle to her strung out temper.

“We’ll be downstairs,” she informed her friends, closing the door.

Draco was waiting by the shop’s back door, his eyes glued to hers. Hermione held his gaze as she climbed down the steps. It felt like staring at the pointed end of a sword: cold, dangerously sharp, irradiating the fierceness of its owner. Draco turned around and aimed his wand at the door, pushed it and went inside. She found him, at the end of the small office, arms folded across his chest. Hermione closed the door behind her.

“What’s going on, Draco?” she asked right away.

“Have you shagged him yet?” Draco snapped his question with as much bile as was possible.

_‘He knows!’_ Hermione panicked, but not for long. She wondered how he came to learn of Sebastian. Did it matter? She shook her head and pictured Draco with his lover, moaning and writhing on top of her. How dare he insult her with his misplaced jealousy! She could feel her body humming with fury; blood pounding on her ears, fingers wrapping into fists. Lifting her eyes, Hermione met Draco’s narrowed chilling gaze. As strong as her physical reaction was to the connotation of his inquiry, she also felt an eerie freedom from outrage. Her body manifested her rage and hurt while her mind, cool and collected, cautioned about the consequences of the confrontation about to unfold and why it might be the one chance to deal with all the obstacles in their relationship.

_"... don’t keep anything in, what happened, why and how it made you feel..._ _Deal with your anger and all the recriminations, past and present. Deal with the consequences of your very stupid, foolish decisions...’_ Hermione snorted inwardly. Nicky, the meddlesome bitch, had a point. Several actually. Did they have a chance? Had they reached a point of no return? After all she and Draco went through, would a kiss and a one-time affair --for Hermione was confident that’s what it was-- put and end to a future together? She wasn’t the type to muddle through any circumstance; she needed direction, purpose, a list of priorities. What were her priorities right now? Her son’s health and the state of her relationship with Draco was her answer. John will get better and had no lack of caregivers, including Draco. As for her and Draco’s relationship? Well, she could think of a few expected as well as unexpected issues which couldn’t be resolved if they couldn’t get pass the first hurdle: Sebastian and Draco’s betrayal.

Hermione realized she had moved a few paces into the small room, losing contact with Draco’s eyes. Lifting her face, Hermione stared into Draco’s turbulent, cold grey irises. His stance had not changed. Legs slightly apart, standing erect, shoulders thrown back and arms crossed tightly over his chest; Draco waited in tensed and furious anticipation. Their eyes collided and out of nowhere, it all came back to her. Memories rushed inside her head. Tender and painful images swirled around. Draco smiling, with her. Draco pushing back a lock of hair behind her ear. Draco holding on to her in the middle of the night, crying quietly. Their first kiss. His eyes, boring into hers, as he answered the one question the whole wizarding world had been anticipating during his trial. _‘I love her,’_ he answered. For a few seconds, Hermione forgot to breathe and her heart skipped a few beats. Did they have a chance? she asked herself. The answer came swiftly as her breathing and heartbeat resumed their normal rhythm. Hermione loved Draco. They’ve come this far, conquered their intense hatred for each other, learned to forgive, to trust and to love one another, and made a few blunders along the way. Days ago –was it only days?–  she questioned the state of her life away from Draco and the wizarding world. She promised to fight for her son, Draco and herself. Hermione remembered that morning vividly as she held John Albus in her arms back in her parents’ garden. She was to give it her all and she would.

“Do you think we still have a chance?” Hermione asked, expectantly.

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Her question disconcerted Draco, forcing him to shove aside his anger. Hermione was looking directly at him. Her posture: back tensely upright, chin thrusting forward, hands at her sides, as if ready for a fight; contradicted the anxiety and urgency in the tone of her voice. Was there hope for them? What if what transpired between Hermione and Sebastian was more than a kiss? Could he forgive her? Rage burst forward and right at its heels, the possibility of a future without Hermione thwarted the eruption of those dark feelings. Draco met Hermione’s gaze. Without uttering a word he heard the plea glistening in Hermione’s eyes just as Nicky’s parting words managed to repeat themselves rather loudly in his head. _‘Remember what’s at stake, little brother. You love her Draco, and she loves you. Don’t throw it all away.’_

“I just...,” Draco’s speech faltered. His heart hammered in his chest. “...I need to know, Hermione.” He could feel all anger fade away, replaced now by frightful anticipation. “If we’re... if we want it to work out then...,” he’d let Hermione fill in the rest. Nicky was right, it was now or never.

Hermione, apparently, chose to have a similar conversation with herself as he just did. Draco could see it in her eyes, she was hesitant, unsure of the path to follow. Gnawing into her lower lip she allowed her shoulders to drop. Her hands came together up front, her fingers drawn into a knot. She lowered her gaze. For a few moments her eyes focused on the floor. Draco shortened the distance between them.

Hermione lifted her head, found his eyes and said, “We just kissed, nothing more,” she said. “He kissed me,” she clarified.

Draco felt relieved and letdown at the same time. He believed nothing else had happened and yet jealousy reared its ugly head. Someone else tasted her lips. Someone, other than him, held her in his arms. His fingers transformed into fists, his breathing became more pronounced and his chest tightened around his heart. What to do? Words evaded him. He shut his eyes in anger and desperation because if he were to give into his indignation... His eyes snapped open. Hermione had taken his knotted hands in hers. Draco raised his gaze and found Hermione’s warm chocolate irises looking at him with a myriad of emotions. Probably the same ones he was feeling at the moment: confusion, ire, and fear. His fingers and hers intermingled gently, almost caressing each other. Hermione came to him not just by taking a couple of steps. She reached out to him because she hadn’t given up on them, hence, her question. Draco felt his stomach plummet. Shame and guilt wiped out every other emotion. He couldn’t throw it all away. They’ve come this far, she sacrificed too much. There had to be a way to forgive and forget.

“I want to believe there is,” Draco said softly. “A chance for us, I mean,” he added.

“And I don’t want to think of you with her every time you touch me,” she replied sorrowfully.

“I keep seeing you in his arms,” Draco admitted bitterly.

Hermione stepped back, releasing his hands. Draco anticipated her next words, could almost hear them before Hermione took in a big breath and asked, “what are we going to do then?”

Draco had no answer. He just knew he had betrayed Hermione’s trust and had no clue why he did it or maybe he just was too proud to explain himself. She wasn’t without fault either. She kissed a bloke. He shook his head. There they were again, anger and frustration attempting to monopolize and cloud his thoughts. He indulged them.

“I’d say we start by admitting that we’ve been unfaithful to each other,” he finally answered, regretting immediately the sour and vindictive tone in his words.

Hermione’s eyes glimmered with unrestrained rage. Merlin! She looked beautiful when she was angry! How many times had he had the pleasure of turning her wrath into unbridle passion? Draco laughed under his breath. Of all the times to be thinking about that! The liquid, boiling with wrath amber in her eyes wiped those memories clean but not his desire. Hermione must have seen it, for her gaze widened. Her lips twitched, she inhaled loudly again, opened her mouth and closed it. Draco could almost hear her, _‘Are you mad? Sex? You’re thinking about sex!’_ His right hand rubbed his nape. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d resort to sex and avoid a row of massive proportions. It worked years ago, when the world around them had collapsed leaving them desolated with no one to count on but each other. That was the past. Jumping into bed now would solve nothing. He knew that and so did Hermione. Back to the issue at hand then, regardless of how much he wanted her right here, right now.

“I overheard your conversation. You were flirting with him, Hermione,” he accused her and then added, “he mentioned a kiss. Apparently you forgot to tell me all about it.” Hard to keep calm when talking about another man touching her.

“So, rather than talking to me, you ran to Nicky taking my sick child with you,” Hermione retorted angrily.

“I wanted to kill the fucking bastard,” he said, “and, had no other place to go,” Draco admitted.

They were not that far apart and Draco had the urgent need to touch her, no matter the tenor of their conversation. He took her right hand in his and the connection tempered anger with tenderness. Hermione didn’t reject his gesture. Tilting her head backwards she met his gaze while their fingers danced with each other gently and hesitantly. Draco lowered his gaze, focusing in their entwined hands.

Seconds ticked by. Neither willing to speak. Draco closed his eyes, submerging himself in the quiet stillness around them. What he wanted and what he should do contradicted each other. Blasted conscience! Ever since he got one, running or hiding from the ‘right thing to do’ was pointless. Draco could feel a smile tugging at his lips. How many times had Hermione admonished him with _‘because it’s the right thing to do!’_? How many times had Mrs. Aisling added her voice to the same chorus? What were he and Hermione to do?

“The question isn’t whether or not we have a chance or what to do next,” he said at last. “The question is, can we forgive each other?”

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Without forgiveness they had no chance at all. One would think love would conquer all and yet, here they stood: holding hands,  tip-toeing around the many elephants in the room and wondering if there was an ‘us’. _‘If there’s any hope for love at all, some walls must fall’._ She had to agree with Peter, Paul and Mary. Draco had asked a poignant question and as far as she was concerned she had but one reply.

“I can’t forgive if I can’t understand,” she responded, taking a step back, holding his gaze. “Nothing is happening with Sebastian. I never encouraged him. He took me by surprise when he kissed me out on the pavement. He fancies me, but I let him know in no uncertain terms it wasn’t possible.” There, she’d taken the first step.

Hermione watched Draco struggle with what she’d asked of him. If he couldn’t at least attempt to explain the reason of his blatant betrayal, Hermione would go mad. She needed to understand why he did it. It was driving her insane looking for an answer when the only person capable of appeasing her curiosity was the culprit himself. As she stood there, witnessing Draco’s inner battle she felt a guilty tug in her heart. Maybe, there was more to his infidelity than the act itself. In fact, she suspected as much. Hermione approached Draco, reducing the small distance between them. He started a little, meeting her gaze. Their hands found each other again. Avoiding her eyes, Draco spoke at last.

“That day, when you introduced me to Mrs Murphy, she touched your cheek and looked at you just like,” the words stumbled and stopped at the tip of his tongue. Hermione turned her head right, left, searching for his wandering gaze and when Draco couldn’t escape her probing eyes, he finally relented. The dark brown in her orbs had softened, reassuring him. Draco took in a deep breath and continued, “the last time I saw Mother...,” his trepidation brought Hermione closer to him. Draco swore under his breath.

Hermione’s right hand caressed his cheek as she said, “when Mrs Murphy touched me, it all came back to you, all those horrible images, and suddenly you felt like you couldn’t breathe. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop remembering, so you ran,” she finished for him.

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–     Draco widened his gaze, amazed at the accurate description of his feelings. How did Hermione know? And then, it hit him like a vicious Bludger out of control.

“You know?” he asked taking her face in his hands. She nodded. “But, I never... your nightmares were nothing like mine. You barely had any! I just... I...,” he couldn’t put words together. It torn him apart thinking of Hermione going through the same savage episodes he’d be going through.

Pulling Hermione by the hand, Draco walked to the couch and with a small nod invited her to sit by his side. The physical connection –their linked hands – continued. As if it somehow kept hope for the future alive. For a while, the young lovers said nothing, opting for staring at their joined fingers. Draco wondered what to do next. Hermione wanted the truth and frankly so did he. Trust was a two way street. There was more to Sebastian than Hermione was willing to admit. She never spoke of those three years apart either and he, selfish bastard that he is, didn’t ask. Recriminations, consequences, the truth. Nicky’s recipe for a reconciliation wasn’t as simple as she made it sound.

“How did it happen, Draco? Getting pissed, I understand but, sleeping with another woman?” Hermione’s impatience and masked anger slipped through her whispered words.

Draco lifted his head and straightened his posture. Hermione imitated him, looking directly into his eyes. Her need to know was evident. It mattered to her when he had already forgotten all about it because it meant nothing. For fuck’s sake, he could barely remember the bitch’s face! Frustrated, Draco pushed himself up, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his trousers. Hermione never broke eye contact even though she chose to stay seated.

“Hermione,” Draco spoke taking in a deep breath. “My recollection of that night is scattered at best.”

“You left my parents’ home furious and then what?” Hermione persisted. This time she chose to stand up.

She could be so annoying sometimes! Everything, every detail, she had to know, she couldn’t leave it alone.

“Why does it matter Hermione?” Draco asked defensively.

“Because, you jumped into bed with another woman when it should have been me! Because you ran away from me Draco into her arms and then you went straight to the Aislings,” she replied angrily. “I never felt so humiliated or useless in my life. You’ve been having panic attacks and didn’t bother to mention it. You’ve visited your mum,” Hermione paused for a moment, looked at him, flashed Draco a sad smile and then asked, “they know, you told them about your mother, didn’t you? And when you heard Sebastian and I talking, the first thing that crossed your mind was to run back to Nicky.”

“I keep wondering if it’ll happen again. If every time we fight that’s where you’d go, to that woman or to... them,” Hermione said with such sorrow Draco extended his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“It won’t happen again, I give you my word, Hermione,” Draco said with as much sentiment and certainty as possible. For as long as he lived, he’d make sure Hermione would never feel unsure about his love or commitment. She might not believe in him now but, she will again.

Breathing in her scent, relishing in the fact that her arms were wrapped firmly around his back, Draco allowed the impasse to go on. Much like their son, Hermione burrowed her head in his chest and there she stayed, breathing slowly, quietly. However, Hermione Granger wasn’t a patient woman and there was much to be said.

“I want to believe you Draco,” she said softly into his T-shirt. “I can’t get it out of my mind.” She paused and without having to look at her, Draco could feel her biting into her lower lip. “And now there is also Nicky and her sisters.” Her tone held deep rooted animosity. Draco managed to suppress a smile.

He took Hermione by the shoulders, pushing her gently half a step back and said, “Nicky and her sisters are like family. Believe me, there are times when I want to hex them just as much as you do. I was very close today.” The comment brought a grin to her lips. “As for that woman,” Hermione’s smile disappeared, replaced now by a deep scowl and tight lips. “Friday, when I left your house Hermione, I felt like rubbish, like the worst kind of man. I had another of those attacks. I don’t remember much. I had gone to that Muggle pub the day before and somehow I ended up there again. I knew that woman was with another bloke but, when she approached me again... You see, she had the day before but, I ignored her,” Draco explained and then continued, “...not this time. Her boyfriend found out I left with her and with a couple of his mates he dragged me out of her flat and... you know the rest.” Draco sighed, relieved. He had finally told the absolute truth. Maybe that’s why he went back, to be punished for... well, the list was rather long. He turned his attention to Hermione.

She had increased the distance between them. Her bright, chocolate stare studied him with great intensity. Draco held her gaze, concealing nothing. Hermione inhaled loudly, looking resigned and not at all confident with his explanation or assurances. Frustrated, Draco shoved the fingers of his right hand into his hair.

“I don’t remember her name, Hermione. It meant nothing and it won’t happen again because I...,” _‘because I love you’_ he wanted to say but, it would be futile, empty words as far as Hermione was concerned.

“Give me time, Draco,” she requested hindering his objection with a finger on his lips. “There are so many things we need to figure out.”

“Like Sebastian,” Draco could barely control the bitterness in his voice.

“He isn’t the issue,” she said emphatically as her gaze hardened.

“I’d say he is. He had a point though. Why didn’t you tell me about him? Could it be that he is right, that you’re attracted to him?” Bugger all! Hermione demanded the truth from him, it was her turn now.

Her fiery eyes shot daggers at him. “I’m not interested at all in Sebastian Dorgan. I told him so, many times and I told him again today in case you missed that part of our conversation.”

She avoided answering his first question. There was only one reason why Sebastian was Hermione’s dirty secret. A challenge Draco was more than willing to take on. Nevertheless, there was a very important task he must do before moving forward with his quest. Swiftly his arms reached for Hermione, encircling her body as his lips took possession of her mouth in a passionate and hungry kiss. She couldn’t push him, couldn’t move, trapped within his arms. Her resistance lasted but a few seconds and the answer to his question came in the sweetest of nectars as her mouth welcomed him without hesitation. Draco tasted her, over and over again. Tongues duelled, probed, teased until at last they came out for air. Draco put some distance between them. As much as he wished to make love to her, it would be a huge mistake. Hermione’s face was flushed and there in the liquid dark amber in her eyes Draco saw his desire for her reflected back to him for Hermione loved him. She might not be able to say it, or maybe she just refused but, she loved him and Sebastian could go and fuck himself because Draco Malfoy had the upper hand and he’d make sure he’d come on top.

“It’d be my pleasure to forever erase that woman from your head.  And I will. Just like before, Hermione, I will earn your trust.” Draco expected all sorts of objections; he had stolen a kiss and issued a dare, so to speak.

“It isn’t just about trust, Draco,” Hermione retorted. “There are so many things to talk about! There is the shop and The Prophet and...”

“I know,” he interrupted, elated because Hermione was willing to work things out. “First things first, John Albus. We should check his temperature. He must be up by now. One problem at a time, Hermione. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

She had turned the knob of the back door and stilled before opening it. Turning around to face him, she looked at him not bothering to disguise the doubts and misgivings harbouring within her. Once outside, Hermione started to climb up the stairs.

“One more thing,” Draco said as he followed Hermione back to the flat. “There’ll be no sex.” Hermione pivoted on her heels, barely able to contain her surprise and disappointment which she tried without success to conceal from Draco. He wondered who would break their fast first.


End file.
